


⏳Breaking the Hourglass⚡

by skyofblue_seaofgreen



Series: Breaking the Hourglass [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Time Travel AU, and ringo is there too, anyway enjoy!, but with a spin!, not many tags for this bad boy, uh oh paul has limited time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofblue_seaofgreen/pseuds/skyofblue_seaofgreen
Summary: One 1964 evening after tripping on the sidewalk, Paul McCartney finds himself transported fifty-five years into the future! After a bit of searching and investigating, Paul figures out the horrible news that plenty of people close to him had died many years before. Knowing they're the only ones that can stop it, Paul and Ringo have to go back in time again and save their friends and loved ones so they can have a better future to look forward to.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, Ringo Starr & Paul McCartney
Series: Breaking the Hourglass [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948231
Comments: 90
Kudos: 93





	1. The Most Fatal Trip to Ever Occur

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Just a note before the story begins: Paul is sent into 2019 instead of 2020 because, of course, you could do a lot more in 2019 than now. With that out of the way, let's jump right in! Thanks for reading! 🍋

Paul McCartney, a young man of twenty-two years, was used to the massive amounts of fame he had acquired over the past months at this point. It was just a daily part of life now, and pretty hard to ignore, unless you were blind and deaf, which...Paul was not. And usually what came with global fame was a lot of shrieking, crazed fans chasing him and his bandmates around wherever they went.

Which was currently happening now. Current time, 7:32. Year, 1964.

Paul was weaving through the line of policemen that had formed a barrier to keep back the ocean of fans suppressing the Heathrow Airport that evening. He was a bit groggy from the long plane ride from America back to London, but the loud screeches of the people surrounding him was enough to rejuvenate him at least a little bit. He tried to keep an eye on George’s checked brown coat to help him navigate his way into their escape car of sorts. It was getting a bit hard as girls pulled at his hair and tried to rip his jacket off of him. 

Paul sighed, closing his eyes as the space between him and the police got thinner. It was fun to be famous, but sometimes it was...aggravating.

“Almost there!” he heard George call over his shoulder. Relief flowed through Paul’s head, and George’s words motivated him enough to pick up the pace. He could finally stand up all the way, and it felt like they were home free. Paul just wanted to get home, and see Jane, and…sleep…

He glanced up to see a small black car currently swarmed with fans. They had to go in  _ that _ ? Paul knew he couldn’t really complain, but...ugh. He followed George into the backseat of the little car, and the terrified driver slammed his foot into the pedal. Paul normally would have looked around to see all the frenzied girls around them, but he was too exhausted. He just sunk into his seat and closed his eyes, silently thanking the window he was leaning on for being so refreshingly cool.

“Turn up the air conditioner,” he mumbled, hoping somebody would hear him.

“What are you talkin’ about, Macca?” John responded from the front seat. “It’s freezing in here…”

“Well,  _ I’m _ hot,” Paul said stubbornly. “Majority rules.”

“There’s only two of us in this argument,” John said. He sounded a bit confused. “You feeling alright there, Paulie?”

“I guess.” Paul shrugged. He felt Ringo, who was squeezed between him and George, press his ice-cold hand to Paul’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” the drummer said, concerned. “Are you sick?”

“I don’t know, Ritchie,” Paul said in exasperation as he finally decided to open his eyes. “Maybe.” They  _ were  _ just in America for a month, so he might have caught something there. But it was July, nobody should be sick…

“Let’s just get you home.” Ringo suggested. “Maybe you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Paul said with a yawn. He struggled to take off his massive black coat, which might have been assisting in the giant heatwave that had suddenly come over him. It felt better without it on, but it was still warm in the car. Paul was extremely envious of John...why did  _ he  _ get to sit in the front with all that space? He just laid his head between the window and the seat and tried to get some rest.

It didn’t seem to take long before the car pulled up beside 57 Wimpole Street, Paul’s house. He had never been so relieved to see those dusty brown bricks or plain white windows. “There you are,” the driver said as Paul opened the car door. John, Ringo, and George said their exhausted goodbyes as he shut the door behind him. He lifted the trunk and dug out his suitcase with much irritation.  _ Ugh. Finally, time to get home.  _ He couldn’t wait to see Jane’s beautiful face for the first time in  _ thirty days… _

Paul watched the car pull away after he’d gotten his luggage out, wanting to embrace the chilly night air for a little bit. Maybe that would get him a little better. He didn’t want Jane thinking he didn’t want to see her. That’d be horrible.

Paul gazed up at the pitch-black sky. He could see a few stars blinking down at him, which was strange. There were hardly any visible stars in London anymore. And there were  _ four  _ of them too. 

Suddenly, as he watched, one of them disappeared.

Paul was a bit unsettled by that, but he shook his head and began to walk over to his door. What he didn’t notice was the crack in the sidewalk that he was about to run into. Half of the gravel was jutted up, and there was absolutely no way he wasn’t going to trip on it.

Which he did.

Paul’s foot, moving swiftly, slammed into the lifted part of the sidewalk and he came crashing down onto the ground, smacking his head on the pavement.  _ Ouch.  _ He groaned, a bit of nausea coming up in his throat, but he couldn’t really do much after that. Everything got dark, and Paul was down for the count.

✦✦✦✦

He woke up with a start. Immediately, his head began to ache, and he winced. Everything around was dark, and he felt a pillow under his head. Maybe Jane had found him outside, and taken him in? Paul sure hoped so.

Why did everything feel so...heavy all the sudden?

Paul sat up a bit, blinking a couple times to see around him. He was definitely in bed, but his surroundings didn’t seem familiar. His bedroom was a lot bigger than this tiny little room was, and it wasn’t quite as plain as in here.

Paul suddenly heard a honking noise from outside and jumped. What the  _ hell  _ was that? It was so loud! Another one followed it, and Paul shifted. Should he get up to go see what happened? He was so tired, though.

_ Fine.  _ Curiosity got the best of him, and slid out of bed. But it wasn’t his. It looked like...a hospital bed? He rubbed his sore head. Had he really hit it that hard? He didn’t think he needed to be in a  _ hospital _ for that. Paul went over to the window and pulled the pale blue curtains open.

What he saw nearly gave him a heart attack.

The city outside was massive. Lights were on everywhere, and there were some bright billboards in the distance. Strange-looking cars swarmed the streets, and  _ people  _ were walking outside. Paul looked around, trying to figure out what happened to London while he was out. His heart started to pound. Was he even  _ in _ London at this point?

Paul tried to calm himself, pulling the curtains closed so he wouldn’t have to stare at the outside world. It was so bright out there, and London was never that active. Paul looked around the room and finally saw a clock on the table. But instead of arms and black numbers it was lit up and had square-ish red numbers. 

Current time, 2:30 am. Current day, July 23rd.

Confusion began to spark in Paul’s head. It was July 22nd when he passed out, so it must be the next day, but...it surely didn’t  _ look  _ like the next day. It looked like fifty years from now! Paul looked around the room, swallowing. He spotted a tiny bathroom and ran inside, his heart starting to beat faster. He flicked on the lightswitch and stared into the mirror. And screamed.

He was so old, and wrinkly!  _ What the hell?! _ He couldn’t stop the scream that kept coming from his throat. Why was he so old? What was going on?!

Suddenly the room’s light flashed on, and he heard a soft voice. “Are you alright?” It sounded like a nurse! “What’s happened?”

Paul rounded the corner. The nurse...didn’t look like a nurse. Instead of the white dress and cap they usually wore, it looked like she had some blue jumpsuit-thing on. Paul blinked a couple times. “What－Who are you?” Paul asked, his old-man voice sounding a lot more hoarse and breathy.

“I’m...a nurse here,” said the woman. She looked concerned and frankly scared. “My name is Molly.”

“Molly,” Paul repeated, relieved to have some sort of information. “Molly, Molly…”

“Are you alright, sir?” Molly asked, watching as Paul went back into the bathroom. Yep, he was still old. How did he get so odd-looking in the span of eight hours? “Sir?”

Paul stared back at her. This felt like a dream, and he knew it was weird, but he had to ask: “What year is it?”

Molly made an oh-no-he’s-crazy face. “2019…”

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me.”

“Um, no I’m not, sir,” Molly said. “I think you’re dehydrated, Mr. McCartney, let’s get you back in bed and have some water…” She led him back to the bed and he very reluctantly got back in. 

2019!? What the  _ hell _ ? What was going on?! Was this some sort of trick? Paul kept looking around. There was a magazine on the nightstand that he didn’t even recognize, with some woman he didn’t know on the cover. “Are you sure it’s 2019?” Paul said as he slowly sipped the icy glass of water he’d been given. Maybe  _ she  _ was the crazy one. But that wouldn’t explain why he was so old.

“I’m sure,” Molly assured him. “July 23rd, 2019. What year did you  _ think  _ it was?”

Paul stared at the wall, blinking a couple times. “1964…” he murmured.

Molly looked like she was stifling a laugh. “Don’t worry,” she said as she patted his shoulder. “It’s good old 2019, I’m sure. And we’re very delighted to have you at our hospital, of all people.”

“What happened…?” Paul asked, desperate for any kind of information he could get. 

Molly leaned back. “Well, some people found you on the ground in front of 57 Wimpole Street, and they took you here,” she explained. “You’ve been asleep for eight hours.”

“But that’s where I was,” Paul said, sitting up. “I was walking into my house to－to see Jane, and then I tripped, and－I passed out…”

“Jane?” Molly tilted her head. “Who is Jane?”

“My girlfriend!” Paul responded, almost hysterical at this point. “Jane Asher!”

Molly stared at him for a good half minute. “The actress?”

“ _ Yes _ .” Paul said, relieved she knew at least who he was talking about. “Is...is she still  _ alive _ ?”

“Of course she is,” Molly answered. “She’s married to that cartoonist...”

_ Married _ ? Paul’s heart crashed through the floor. “She...she is?”

“Yes,” Molly went to refill Paul’s water as he stared into space, eyes wide.  _ My Jane is married? To someone who isn’t me?  _ He didn’t know what to think. He just swallowed and kept drinking the water she gave him. “Now, I’m going to go call the doctor. Your wife’s worried sick about you, she’s been waiting outside for ages.”

Paul watched Molly leave the room. His heart began to pound. If Jane was married to some other guy, who was  _ he  _ married to? Swallowing in terror, he tried to think of a way to get out of this. He didn’t really want to see his new wife, not really…

“Paul!”

A tall woman with wavy raven-black hair hurried into the room, her eyes filled with worry. Paul tensed up as she hugged him tightly. “I was so worried about you,” she said. “I mean, you’re 77 now, and people  _ your  _ age don’t really take falls too well. Especially not on the sidewalk…”

Paul stared at her, trying not to make a face. “I’m－I’m how old?”

The woman gave him a swift glance as she sat on the bed. “77…” 

“I’m  _ 77 _ ?!” Paul had to keep from howling. “But I was 22 yesterday!” It took him a second to realize how weird that sounded.

The woman stared at him, confused, and then just laughed. “You’re so funny.” she said. “Yes, where have the years gone?”

Paul stared at her, worry building up in his chest. All he wanted to do was see somebody he  _ knew  _ and  _ recognized.  _ He wanted to see Jane, or John, George, Ringo,  _ anybody _ . “C-can I use the phone?” Paul asked.  _ Do they even still have phones in 2019? _

“Um, sure,” the woman said. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular thing with a screen. Paul stared at it, shell-shocked. What was this? He saw a small button near the bottom, so he pressed it, and the screen lit up. A photo of the woman and him showed up. 

Paul then watched the screen, trying to figure out what to do next. His wife (it still felt so weird to think of this obscure woman as his  _ wife _ ) was watching him, looking very concerned. “Paul? D-do you need help?”

“Um...yeah,” Paul answered. “How...do I call someone?” He looked back down at the object he was holding, but the screen was black again. Did he do something? Did he break it?

“Paul, you have a phone. Did you forget how to do this when you hit your head?” the woman took the phone from him, and Paul made sure to watch what she was doing. She pressed the button, swiped the screen up, and swiftly put in a number code. Then the screen changed again, displaying many small squares with symbols on them. The woman clicked on a square with a phone-looking thing on it and handed it to him.

“Th-thanks.” Paul said awkwardly. On the screen now was a number pad of sorts. Now who was he going to call? Would his wife mind if he called Jane? Probably. He’d call John, then. He put in the number for John’s home phone and prayed he’d answer. He just wanted to hear John’s (or Cynthia’s) reassuring voice. He put the device (which was warming up rapidly) against his ear and let it ring.

This was all so strange.

“Hello?”

The voice that greeted him didn’t sound like John or Cynthia. It sounded like a man, sure, but not anyone he knew. Paul didn’t know what to say. “ _ Hello _ ?” the voice said again, sounding irritated.

“Sorry,” Paul said. “Wrong－wrong number…”

He pressed the red button on the phone, hoping it might allow him to hang up. Well, that was very unsuccessful. Paul very briefly glanced up at his wife. She seemed very, very worried about him. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not.” Paul replied, at this point very frustrated. He sat up again and sighed. “Listen, honey. To be frank with you, I have no clue who you are. I’m terrified. Last time I was awake I was  _ 22  _ and it was  _ 1964. _ But now it’s 2019 and I have no clue how I got here.”

The woman just stared at him. Paul knew it was probably a lot to take in. She opened her mouth to talk, but then closed it again, taking more time to think. Then she said, “I’m Nancy. Your wife.”

“I know you’re my wife,” Paul said, closing his eyes in exasperation.

“Dear, I think you’re delusional,” Nancy said, standing up and gently pushing him back onto the pillow. “Why don’t you just get some more rest? Maybe you’ll be better in the morning.”

Paul didn’t think so, but he watched her go to the door. “Goodbye,” she said. She sounded a bit hurt as she flicked off the lights. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bye,” Paul answered, but he didn’t think she heard him. Still confused and petrified, he laid back down, closing his eyes tight. He tried to convince himself that when he woke up, he’d be at home in bed next to Jane.

And it would be 1964 again.


	2. Some Very Shocking News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got all the blurbs from Wikipedia, and the headlines on the magazine are from a real July 22nd, 2019 People Magazine!

When Paul’s eyes flew open again the next morning, he was again met with the white hospital walls he’d seen the night before. He sat up quickly, hoping that it  _ might  _ be 1964 again. But he was quickly let down when he saw the same strange magazine and red-lit clock. It was still 2019.

And he was still 77.

He got up from the bed, stretching and trying to figure out what to do now. So he had time-traveled, somehow. And now he was 55 years into the future, not knowing a single thing about this new world except it was definitely weird. And that everybody thought he was insane. 

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just call someone now, that was going to be way too hard. It proved that last night. He couldn’t see Jane, since she was married to someone else now. He couldn’t just ask questions either, since they would probably seem very simple and obvious to everyone he knew.

Well, he didn’t want to go into a mental home. He needed to pretend like this was all fine. I mean, life in 2019 couldn’t be  _ that  _ much different from 1964. He just had to...figure everything out on his own. 

Paul went back into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. He was still old, unfortunately. Paul ran his hands over his face, deeply despaired. He used to look so  _ good,  _ but now he was like the off-brand version of himself. How was he married again?

Well, he needed to pee, so. Maybe he could read that magazine to get more information? He snatched it off the nightstand and went into the bathroom, staring at the people on the front. The photo was in black-and-white, and it looked like a man and a woman with their baby. In red lettering, it said  **_Megan and Harry: Raising Archie Their Way._ **

Hmm. Interesting. Maybe Megan and Harry were new celebrities nowadays? And Archie was their son? He looked at the other photo on the cover. It looked like the royal family, with Queen Elizabeth in the middle! She was still  _ alive? _ How old was she? She had to be ninety-something by now.

Paul scanned the top of the cover. There was a young man in a black turtleneck there, beside him the words:  **_Disney Star’s Heartbreaking Death at 20._ ** Disney star? Was he a voice actor? Weren’t Disney movies only animated?

Then there was another woman next to him, looking slyly at the camera. Paul read  **_Whoopi Goldberg; My Health Crisis._ ** Well, he had no clue who that was. The last headline was beside a woman with curly blond hair, reading  **_Taylor’s New Feud; Stars Take Sides._ ** This Taylor woman was probably problematic, since it said  _ new  _ feud. 

Paul was about to look at the inside when a knock came on the door. “Hello, sir? It’s Molly.” 

“Oh.” Paul stood up and washed his hands quickly before opening the door. “Hey.”

Molly stared up at him with a knowing smile. “What year is it?” she asked, jokingly.

Paul forced himself to roll his eyes and laugh. “2019,” he said begrudgingly. 

Molly nodded. “Good. I’m glad you don’t think it’s 1964 anymore.” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, good,” Paul lied, going over to the bed and putting the magazine down. He had trouble looking away from it. Sure, physically he was fine. But mentally he was a complete wreck. 

“That’s nice to hear.” Molly answered. “So do you think you’re ready to go home today?”

Paul tried to keep his eyes from widening with fear. “Um...yeah.” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I think so.”

Molly smiled. “Good!” she said with a beam. “I’ll go get the doctor and then check you out, okay?”

“Okay,” Paul said, forcing a smile as she left the room. When she was gone, he sighed in relief. Thank goodness she hadn’t suspected anything. Paul tried to make the bed, hoping to distract himself for the time being. He had a lot of things to think about, but he needed more time to think  _ about  _ them.

Molly came back in a few minutes later. A tall, friendly-looking man came in, holding a clipboard. “Hey, Mr. McCartney,” he said, holding his hand out. Paul awkwardly shook it. “I’m Dr. Weeks. Let me just say I am a  _ huge  _ fan of your music. Blackbird was a masterpiece!”

_ Blackbird? _ Paul wracked his brain for a song by that name. Then he realized:  _ he hadn’t written it yet. _ “Oh, th-thanks,” Paul said with a large nod. “I appreciate that.”

Dr. Weeks flashed him a smile. “So, you’ve got a clean bill of health, just a little head bump,” he said, looking down at his clipboard. “Make sure to drink lots of water and don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

“Okay,” Paul nodded again, trying to keep a smile on his face.

“Alright!” the doctor said. “You’re good to go. Molly will get your stuff for you, and then you’ll be outta here in no time.”

“Okay, thank you.” Paul answered, secretly digging his thumb into his palm. He was  _ not  _ ready to leave here at all. He wished he could be Dr. Weeks. 

Soon Molly came back with his stuff in a bin, which was just his clothes, his wallet, keys, and one of those phones Nancy had last night. “There you go!” she said. “Here, I’ll take you to the door.”

Paul followed Molly down the hospital hallways. He wanted so desperately to look at the things he now owned and scour them for information, but he had to keep his cool. He awkwardly smiled at patients who pointed and waved to him.  _ So I’m still famous in 2019,  _ he thought. Paul tried to decide if that was good or not.

They finally got to the hospital door. People all around were staring at him, jaws dropped. “Goodbye, Mr. McCartney!” Molly said. The doors opened automatically, and Paul watched them go as a blast of heat hit his face. Nancy was standing there by a lamppost, looking at her phone and waiting for him. He was not ready for this at all. 

“Bye,” Paul said numbly as he walked out to her. 

Nancy looked up from whatever she was staring at. “Paul!” she said as she hugged him again. “Do you remember who I am now?”

“ _ Yyyyesss… _ ” Paul said slowly. 

“Oh, good,” Nancy said. She slid her hand into his and they began walking down the street. Paul looked around, but not at her. He was surprised to see no color-segregated  _ anything,  _ and everybody he saw seemed to have one of those weird phones. “I thought you might become a crazy person after that fall. I don’t think I could have stayed married to you!” She laughed, so Paul guessed it was probably a joke.

“Haha, wow,” Paul said, “that makes me feel good…”

Nancy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave you. We’ve already had so many good times together.” she said. “We’re all a big happy family now. You, me...Mary, James, Beatrice, Heather, Stella…”

“Who?” Paul said, and then snapped his mouth shut.  _ Oops.  _ But who were all those people? Were they his... _ kids?! _ “Haha, just kidding. I know who...they are…”

Nancy didn’t seem like she was focused on the conversation. They were going into a parking garage now. Paul gazed around at all the cars. They weren’t much different from the ones in 1964, but there were little things about them that were strange. Nancy stopped at a big black one and she opened the door. Paul went around to the other side and got in.

It was a lot more sophisticated inside this car. The seats were all expensive and everything just looked so futuristic. Paul looked around for a good minute before Nancy started the car. A black screen lit up as she pulled out of the garage. There were six options on it: GPS, Radio, Satellite Radio, Settings, Air Conditioning, and Heat. It was strange how many screens he was finding here.

Nancy pressed  _ Radio  _ and then scrolled through the channels with her finger. Paul watched her go, fascinated, and then she pressed  _ Classic Rock. _ Paul sat back and listened to the DJ. “This one’s an oldie but a goodie. Here’s All My Loving by the Beatles.”

“Oh, you probably don’t want to listen to yourself,” Nancy chuckled over Paul’s voice through speakers. She went to change it, but Paul stopped her.

“No, no, it’s good.” he said. 

This was so weird. They described All My Loving as an oldie? But that had only been released a year ago. Then Paul remembered: now it was 56 years ago. He listened to their song, noting how smooth and clear his voice sounded. This radio was good.

Then he remembered the bin of stuff on his lap. More curious about that now, he dug through his clothes and got his wallet. Maybe his driver’s license would be in there. Thankfully, it was! He opened it quickly and stared at himself. Ew, his picture looked horrible.

He read the plain black letters on the license.

Name: James Paul McCartney. Age: 77 years. Height: 5’11. Weight: 68 Kilograms. 

_ Wow.  _ He’d lost a lot.

He then looked through the money in his wallet. It wasn’t much, disappointingly. But he decided to put that away and go through his phone.  _ If  _ he remembered how to use it. 

Okay. Press the little button, easy. 

The photo he was met with was of John and George. It was black-and-white, and they were both looking at the camera with big smiles. Paul stared at them, relieved to see their faces. But why would he only have  _ them  _ in this photo, and not Ringo? Whatever.

Then...scroll down? No, up. Then the keypad. He didn’t know his password. He turned to Nancy, hoping she’d know it. Would it be weird to ask? People probably didn’t forget the password to their phones often nowadays.

Well, he was Paul. What would  _ he  _ use as his password? Well, his birthday, maybe? He put in 61842. Surprisingly, the phone unlocked! Paul had to keep from celebrating. His first victory in the modern world, getting his phone password correct.

Okay. He was met with the same photo of John and George, and then all those little squares.  _ Why are there so many more things to do on phones nowadays?  _ He didn’t know what to hit first. Or what to do first.

“Why did it take you so long to get into your phone?” Nancy asked from beside him.

Paul nearly jumped. “Oh, I dunno. I just forgot my password for a second.”

“Oh.” That seemed to convince Nancy for the time being. 

Paul glanced back down at the little squares. There were little labels under them. On the lowest row there was  _ Safari, Messages, and Phone. _ Paul pressed messages, curious to what it might be.

After he examined the page, he scrolled down through all the people he’d been messaging. Nancy was at the top, the last thing she’d sent being: Where are you? at 9:41. Then it was a chap called James. The last message he’d sent him was I love you with a heart symbol.

Yeah, there was no doubt about it. James was his son.

So did that mean Stella, Mary, Beatrice, and Heather were his daughters? Probably. 

Wow. He had kids now. But did he have them all with Nancy? Or did he have more wives? He hoped he didn’t have more wives. He didn’t have time to think about that before they were driving through a gate and into a small driveway. There was a house there, and it looked pretty large. Paul had to guess that it was his.

“Alright,” Nancy said as she stopped the car. The music abruptly cut off, and Paul let the screen fade to black on his phone. “Here we are. How about I get you some tea?”

“That’d be great,” Paul said. He was glad to hear people were still drinking tea now.

He got out of the car, slowly, and gazed up at his house. It was half white, half brown brick, with a lamppost in front and six windows. Nancy went in through the black front door, and Paul slowly followed her, still looking around in awe.

Inside there was a set of carpeted stairs on the right and a living room in front. Beside it was a kitchen, which Nancy quickly entered. Paul dropped his bin of stuff on the stairs and began to peruse around his house.

There was a fireplace in this living room, with a mantle of photos above it. He scanned each and every one. There was a picture of young him, and then one of what he had to assume was Nancy. And then there was a big one of him, Nancy, and a couple other people. His kids? Probably. Beside it was a photo of him and the other three Beatles. Paul stared at that one for a long time. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of it.

That brought another question to his mind. Were the Beatles still together? Was he still writing music with them? He hoped so. He couldn’t imagine a world without them together. It would be crazy! That was the last of the pictures, so Paul looked over at the kitchen. Nancy was still getting the tea on.

Paul went back over to the stairs and slowly climbed them with his bin in hand. The walls were bare despite a few little paintings and such. He stopped at the next floor. It just had a couple more living rooms and a bathroom, and a bedroom that was too feminine to be his. Probably Nancy’s, though he couldn’t imagine him and his  _ wife  _ having separate beds. 

He tried the third floor. This one had a big bedroom, and it was undoubtedly his. Paul saw photos everywhere, and framed certificates. This was the perfect chance to get more info! Paul suddenly saw another strange device on a desk by the window. He dropped the bin on the bed and went over to it. 

Thankfully, there was a note attached to it. In his handwriting was some kind of instructions on how to work it! “Praise the lord,” Paul murmured as he sat down and read the note.

After a few minutes of struggling and irritation Paul finally got the device (which he figured out was called a  _ computer _ ) to turn on. And he was met with a blue screen, and squares a lot like the one on his phone.

He clicked  _ Google,  _ hoping it might be something useful. Then he saw a white screen pop up, with the multicolored word Google plastered across it. Below it, a bar titled  _ Search.  _

So, search for what? Anything? 

Paul typed in his own name, for starters, hoping something might come up.

After about a millisecond, more things came up. He read the blurb about him that popped up first. 

Sir James  **Paul McCartney** CH MBE (born 18 June 1942) is an English singer, songwriter, musician, composer, and record and film producer who gained worldwide fame as co-lead vocalist and bassist for the Beatles. His songwriting partnership with John Lennon remains the most successful in history.

Well, that was a lot to take in. First,  _ Sir  _ James Paul McCartney?! He was a knight?! When did that happen? And he was a film producer too! Okay, he was a vocalist and bassist for the Beatles, so that was true. But the last part…

_ The most successful in history. _

Wow. He was still very famous then. He had to know more. Quickly, he typed  _ the Beatles  _ into the search bar and scanned the blurb so fast he had to read it again to take it in.

**The Beatles** were an English rock band formed in Liverpool in 1960. The group, whose best-known lineup comprised John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, are regarded as the most influential band of all time.

Years Active: 1960-1970

Paul sat back in his chair, eyes growing wide. No. No...no...they had broken up. In 1970. Why? How? Paul grabbed his head in shock. Maybe that was why he had become a film producer. To keep getting money after the Beatles.

But...they’d broken up? So soon? Why?

Paul sighed in disappointment. His dreams were crushed now. But he guessed he couldn’t do anything about it now. Maybe he could look up why they broke up later. But he needed to search up a few more things.

He slowly typed  _ John Lennon  _ into the search bar.

**John** Winston Ono  **Lennon** MBE (born  **John** Winston  **Lennon** , 9 October 1940 – 8 December 1980) was an English singer, songwriter and peace activist who gained worldwide fame as the founder, co-lead vocalist, and rhythm guitarist of the Beatles.

Paul stared at the screen, blinking slowly. He couldn’t believe it. There was just no way this could have happened. 

This was even worse. 

John was... **dead.**


	3. An Attempt at Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: one light mention of self-induced overdose, doesn't go on for long though

Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. There was no way John could be dead, there was just  _ no way.  _ And he had died in 1980?! Paul had to look away from the screen and into the outside world. This all seemed like one big nightmare, and he just wanted it to end. He clicked on John’s little blurb and scrolled through miles and miles of text about him. He didn’t want to read anything other than how John died.

He finally got to a paragraph or two titled  **Death** . Slowly, trying to keep his breathing steady, he read through it. Every word just seemed to give him a harder punch in the gut. He looked at the photo on the side. John looked so much older there. And the man behind him was told to be his murderer in the caption.

Paul didn’t want to believe. John had been shot and killed. He put his head in his hands and dug his fingernails into his cheeks, hoping and praying that this was all just some kind of joke. Why was everything going wrong? Why did he have to trip on that sidewalk?

“Paul! Tea’s ready, dear.” Nancy called from downstairs.

Standing up slowly, Paul leaned against the desk to steady his shaking legs. He couldn’t imagine a world without John, but he was  _ in it.  _ He grabbed his phone off the bed, hoping it might have the same  _ Google  _ program. He slowly went down the stairs, staring at the photo of George and John on his phone screen.

Was George dead too? That might be why he only had them in that photo…

He closed his eyes with a deep breath. He sure hoped not.

As he wandered into the kitchen, he noticed Nancy setting the tea down on the table. “Thanks,” he told her as he slowly sat down again. His old-man body wasn’t quite as fit as his younger one, and he was still having trouble getting used to it. 

Nancy sat down across from him, sipping a coffee. It took Paul a minute to remember that she was  _ American.  _ He had an American wife! He watched her in fascination. “You’ve got an interview with  _ People  _ magazine at 5, remember?” she said.

Paul tried to keep his eyes from widening. “What?”

“Yeah,” Nancy closed her eyes and brushed off her spotted gray t-shirt. 

“O-oh,” Paul nodded slowly. “Yeah, I rem-remember now.”

He had a  _ what?! _ An interview? He was 90% sure he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions they gave him. I mean, he hadn’t been able to figure out what song Blackbird was at the hospital this morning! What else had he done that everybody else knew about but  _ he  _ didn’t?!

“I’m going to go to the grocery store in a couple minutes,” Nancy stood up and went over to the refrigerator. “Do you want anything?”

“What’s on the list?” Paul asked. If he was going to spend a lot of time in 2019, he might as well have something good to eat. He was craving a good omelette, anyway.

“Almond milk, celery, Club crackers, and those new protein bars,” Nancy answered as she read down the list on the fridge. “It’s going to be a short run.”

“Why don’t you put some eggs on there, eh?” Paul said as he took a large sip of his tea. 

Nancy turned around fast, staring at him like he had two heads. Paul drew his head back in confusion. “What?”

“Eggs?” Nancy said. “You can’t have eggs. You know that!”

Paul’s eyes grew wide. “I  _ what _ ?!”

“You can’t have eggs! You’re a vegan!” Nancy said. She was looking at him like this was common knowledge. 

_ I’m a vegan?  _ Paul wanted to slap himself. Curse his older self for making such rash decisions! He didn’t want to be a vegan! He just wanted an omelette! “Just...put them on there anyway,” Paul said.

Nancy shook her head. “No,” she said. “You can’t cheat. We made a pact together that we wouldn’t.”

Paul closed his eyes tight.  _ Dammit. _

Nancy left the house soon after that, and when he was sure she’d gone he ransacked the kitchen for anything not-vegan. But it was all...all  _ good for him! _ Paul finally found some expired beef jerky under the ice cooler and tore the wrapper off.

“What the hell,” he muttered as he chewed the rock-hard snack. “This is all just...a disaster.”

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He flinched a bit, thinking it was some kind of wasp in his ear, but then realized it was only that blasted device. He went over to it on the table to see what it was doing.

There was some sort of notification covering up the picture of John and George. Paul’s heart exploded in happiness when he saw...it was  _ Ringo. _ His message said: Heard you fell outside Jane’s old apartment. Are you good? -Ringo, with about a thousand symbols Paul didn’t care to look at. 

He unlocked the phone (with a bit more ease this time), and it took him awhile to find out how to answer Ringo, but he did eventually. The little letters he had to type out were tiny, and he made a  _ lot  _ of mistakes. But eventually he got his message out, reading: I'm so glad you're alive.

He knew it would probably sound weird as all get out to Ringo, but he didn’t care. He just had to express his emotions to  _ somebody. _

Ringo answered soon: What the hell is that supposed to mean

Paul stifled a laugh and sent him: Where are you?

Ringo replied: At home???

Paul sighed.  _ Maybe old me knows where Ringo lives, but young me sure doesn’t.  _ He sent him: and where’s that?, proud of himself for finding out how to use question marks.

Ringo: Paul are you okay?

Paul: Just fine now that you’ve messaged me I need to tell you something so just come over as fast as you possibly can please its urgent

Ringo: okay, fine I’ll come

Paul jumped for joy, which subsequently hurt because of his old man body. He took a celebratory bite of beef jerky and waited patiently for Ringo to arrive.

He had to wait about thirty minutes before he finally saw a car pull up in his driveway. Paul stood by the door like a palace guard as Ringo knocked a few times, sounding very reluctant.

He swung open the door. “Ringo,” he said, eyes growing wide. 

If he was 77, then Ringo must be two years older than him, which meant...Ringo was 79. He looked not a day older than 50! “Oh my  _ god,  _ you look amazing.”

Ringo lowered his sunglasses. “Um...Paul, we saw each other last month.”

Paul didn’t reply and just pulled Ringo into a hug. It felt so good to see somebody he knew. Ringo returned the hug but then pulled himself back. “How hard did you hit your head?”

“Pretty damn hard,” Paul said. “Come on, come in. I need to tell you something...god, this has been  _ crazy _ …”

They sat beside each other on the white couch in the living room. Ringo looked a bit uncomfortable, but not enough to be overly noticeable. Paul stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Okay. I know this sounds really fake and hard to believe, but...I’m Paul from...1964.”

Ringo’s brow furrowed and his eyes grew wide in concern. “A-are you sure you don’t need to go back to the doctor, Paul, because I－”

“No.” Paul shook his head. “No, I’m telling the  _ truth _ . R-remember that night when we were driving back from the airport? And I felt really sick? And then you dropped me off in front of Jane’s?”

“Yes.” Ringo said after a moment of trying to remember. “That’s a really obscure point in time, but...go on…”

“After you three drove away, I tripped on the sidewalk and knocked myself out. Then I woke up in 2019, in the hospital,” he said. “I’m not kidding you. I  _ promise _ .”

Ringo gazed at him for what felt like an hour. “Okay, listen here, Macca.” he said, holding up his hands and repositioning himself on the couch. “You seem perfectly sane besides for the fact of... _ whatever’s going on here _ ...so I don’t really know if I should believe you or not. I mean, this sounds like some  _ Back to the Future  _ crap right here.”

“Back to the what?” Paul said. What was that?

“ _ Back to the Future _ ,” Ringo repeated, giving him a glance. “Remember? The movie? From ‘85?”

Paul shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen it.”

“B-but…” Ringo stood up. “We watched it together that time! Remember, Doc and Marty? He went back in time by accident?”

“No,” Paul shrugged. This was the perfect chance to prove to Ringo that he was from 1964! “Have no clue.”

“Okay, c’mon.” Ringo seemed seriously offended now. “It was like...our favorite movie. We always talk about it!”

Paul shrugged one more time. “Nope. Radio silence.”

Ringo just stared at him in complete shock, eyes wider than saucers. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve got to be lying!” He weaved around the couch and pressed his hands into the back of a chair. “There’s no way you forgot about  _ Back to the Future _ .”

“See, I’m not joking.” Paul said. “I’m completely serious.”

They both fell into silence, and both watched each other for a while. Paul could see the gears in Ringo’s head turning, and he finally sighed. “Alright, I guess I believe you now, since you don’t remember that bloody movie. But...how’d you get from 1964 to...here?”

“I have no clue.” Paul shook his head. “But I just woke up here. And I have no idea how to get back.”

“So does that mean the old you is in 1964 you’s body?”

Paul shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. What a fabulous time he must be having…”

Ringo blinked a couple times. “So...it’s only been a day since you’ve seen John and George. And Brian…” He gazed out the window, seemingly zoning out for a minute.

“Wait.” Paul stepped over to him, trying to be comforting. “Is George dead too? And Brian as well?”

“Yes,” Ringo replied. “George died of lung cancer in 2001. Smoked too many cigarettes. And Brian had an overdose in 1967.”

Paul’s eyes grew wide. He could understand George dying in 2001, but Brian in 1967? “Was it...self-induced?” Paul murmured.

Ringo gave him a small shrug. “Nobody knows.”

Paul sat back down, covering his mouth with a hand. That was crazy. This whole thing was crazy. They were the only two Beatles alive. He needed a smoke, but the news about George scared him. He guessed that people probably didn’t smoke as much in 2019. It was...probably unhealthy. 

Paul wished he could go back to 1964 and tell George to stop. He wished he could go to 1980 and save John. He wished he could, but he knew it would never happen.

Or could it…?

“Maybe...maybe I can go back and save them.” Paul said suddenly. “If I traveled forward in time, I might be able to go back.”

Ringo turned to look at him. “What? No!”

“Yes,” Paul said. “Maybe we could  _ both  _ go back and save them! C’mon, you and I?”

“How would we even do that?” Ringo asked.

“I don’t know!” Paul stood up again, energized and excited. “Maybe we can just go back the way I came. By...by hitting our heads on the sidewalk!”

Ringo looked at him like he was completely insane. “Uhm, no. I’m not smacking my face on the ground for the sake of some batty experiment that might not even be  _ real _ .”

“Please.” Paul said, grabbing Ringo’s arms desperately. All he wanted to do now was save his friends from their terrible fates. “ _ Please _ .”

Ringo wasn’t convinced.

“If we end up in the hospital again, I’ll pay your bills.”

Ringo sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his head. “I can’t believe I’m actually about to do this,” he muttered.

“Yes!” Paul jumped for joy, which, again, hurt his old-man body. Ringo was going to help him! “Thank you, Ritchie. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Ringo just shook his head with a smile. “God, okay. Here goes nothing, then.”


	4. The First Trip Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did it work? Yes. Are there issues? Yes.

Paul and Ringo piled into a car and drove apprehensively to 57 Wimpole Street. Ringo didn’t seem to want to talk much, so they just listened to the radio in silence. Paul noticed how much more complex and... _ sexualized _ music was nowadays. He didn’t like it.

It was so weird. Paul still couldn’t get over this whole time-travel thing. Why did it happen to him, and why in front of Jane’s house? It was just so weird. It made Paul uncomfortable, and he made a mental note that, when he got back to 1964, he would make sure never to trip on that sidewalk again. Maybe they could even get it fixed.

They finally got to 57 Wimpole Street. Paul saw the crack in the sidewalk that had brought him here. It was still there, exactly the same. “There it is,” Paul said as he got out of Ringo’s car. “That’s where I tripped!”

Ringo followed him and stared down at the crack. “Really?”

“Yes,” Paul said. He didn’t want to get that close to it, in fear that he would mess something up. “I’m sure of it.”

“So how do we get to the right date, then? I assume we’re going to 1980 first?” Ringo said, putting his hands in the pockets of his black windbreaker. He still looked like he didn’t believe what Paul was saying at all. 

“I don’t know,” Paul stood over the crack, rubbing his chin. He just had to think about this. The night he had been transported here, he’d been watching the stars. And he had been thinking...how long do stars last? Fifty-five lightyears was what he guessed, and he’d been shot fifty-five years into the future!

“Okay,” Paul turned around to face Ringo, who was staring at the ground like he regretted ever coming to visit Paul. “How many years is it from now to 1980?”

“Um...thirty nine.” he said.

“Okay.” Paul said. “C’mere. We both have to trip.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Ringo sighed as he came to stand beside Paul. “But I will. For you, ya big kook.”

Paul smiled at him gratefully and then looked up at the sky. Big, fat white clouds were traveling across a dark blue sky. “How long do you think clouds last, Ringo?” he said, hoping and praying this would work.

“I dunno. A few days at the most,” Ringo said. 

“Do you think they last...thirty nine lightyears? December 8th, to the day?” Paul said. He knew it was awkward. He grabbed Ringo’s hand. “Okay. Now, let’s trip.”

Ringo closed his eyes tightly. “If I wake up on the ground, I’m suing you,” he said gruffly.

“Ssh,” Paul replied. “I have a feeling this will work. Okay, let’s walk into that crack on three, alright?”

“Fine.” Ringo said begrudgingly. “Three, two…”

“One!” Paul finished, and the two of them walked right into that crack, both falling at the same time onto the cold, rough ground. Paul wearily smiled as his world faded to black again.

✦✦✦✦

Paul woke up with a jolt. His eyes grew wide when he realized that...he was still on the ground! It was a lot colder, though, than it was when he had tripped. But at least it was still light outside.

Had they made it?

Paul stood up, looking around himself. He didn’t look old anymore! He pulled a strand of hair out and looked over it.  _ It was black _ ! Had Ringo made it too? Paul peered beside him to see a slightly older-looking Ringo still passed out beside him!

“It worked!” he cried. This time his happiness jump didn’t hurt!

But, holy mother, it was  _ cold. _ Leftover snow piled the streets, and Paul’s eyes widened. Yes! They had made it to December 8th, 1980! He crouched down and shook Ringo’s shoulder. “Ringo! Ringo!” he said. “Wake up!”

The drummer grunted and groaned, slowly opening his blue eyes. “D-did it work?”

“Yes, yes, it worked,” Paul said, pulling him up. “We’re in 1980!”

“No way.” Ringo lifted his head and blinked a couple times. “There’s no way!” He spun in a circle. “You  _ weren’t  _ crazy that whole time!”

“I know, I know,” Paul said with a laugh. “I told you.”

Ringo grabbed his face with a grin. “I’m young again!” He turned to Paul. “Do you have a mirror?”

Paul shook his head. “Nope.”

“Aww,” Ringo looked disappointed. “Wait. What time is it?”

“I dunno.” Paul shrugged. “Check your phone?”

Ringo dug into his pocket and pulled out the device. It was a bit roughed up, but working. “It’s 1:15.” he said, his voice growing low with worry. “We only have 9 hours to get to John.”

“Where is he?” Paul asked.

“In  _ New York City _ ,” Ringo replied, whirling around and beginning to march down the street, since their car had disappeared. Paul followed, joining in his panic. “We have to get to the airport!”

Paul’s jaw dropped. “He’s in New York? Why?!”

“He moved there. With Yoko,” Ringo explained. “Oh, wait you don’t know who that is…”

“Yeah,” Paul said. What kind of person’s name would be  _ Yoko _ ?

“She’s his wife.” Ringo said. “She bugged the living hell out of us in the studio before we broke up. But they got married anyway. They have a son named Sean.”

“Wait, what about Cynthia and Julian?” Paul asked. He was still trying to figure out what to do with this new information. 

“He divorced Cyn and she got custody of Julian.” Ringo explained breathlessly. They were hurrying down the roads as fast as they possibly could. “It’s a mess.”

“Sounds like it,” said Paul, shaking his head. “But...what about Nancy? Is she here?”

“No,” Ringo replied. “You’re still married to...Linda.”

“Linda?” Paul repeated. “How many wives have I had?”

“Three. Nancy, Linda, and Heather.”

“No wonder I have a daughter named Heather,” Paul murmured. “But when did I marry Heather?”

“I dunno, 2001 or something. But she was kind of a gold-digger.”

“A what?” Paul tilted his head, confused.

“She...took advantage of your money. A bit. But you did have a kid together, Beatrice, so there’s that.” Ringo said. 

“Oh.” Paul nodded. That was surely interesting. A gold-digger wife! He liked that phrase. It sounded so scandalous. “And when did I marry Linda?”

“1969.” Ringo told him. He turned to look at Paul. “You loved her.”

Paul tilted his head. Ringo looked so sad! “What happened?”

“She got cancer,” Ringo said. “Breast cancer. You cried a river after she went. You didn’t see anybody for a long time…”

Paul suddenly became very sad. He didn’t know  _ why,  _ he’d never even seen this Linda woman before. But something about the way Ringo described their relationship made him feel bad. But he knew...he couldn’t save Linda from breast cancer. He could save George, because he just had to stop him from smoking, but...not Linda.

Ringo shook his head to clear the conversation. “Look, there’s a taxi.” he said, pointing toward a little yellow car. “Flag it down!”

Paul picked up his arms and waved wildly. “Here!” he called to the car. The driver took a minute to notice them, but when he saw he pulled over faster than lightning.

“Hello,” he said, obviously flustered that two Beatles were coming into his taxi. “Wh-where to?”

“Airport,” Ringo said simply. Paul awkwardly tugged his seatbelt on as the taxi took off. He stared out the window to have a good think.

Okay. They were in 1980 now. Still the future, but less...future-y. It looked like not much had changed since 1964, just a few more little things, like extra trash cans and fliers on buildings for something called  _ disco night. _ But Paul knew more about his life now! He’d had three wives: Linda, Heather, and Nancy. And he loved Linda, but Heather took advantage of his money, and...well...he didn’t know about Nancy yet. 

It felt good to know more. Not a lot more, but just more. Every little thing would help him on his hunt to save John, George, and Brian.


	5. Reluctance is his Middle Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't quite believe them.

They got to the airport in around ten minutes, which was good time. The taxi driver seemed to sense they were in an urgent hurry and got them to Heathrow in what might have been a record-breaker. Paul and Ringo stepped out of the car, and Paul was immediately shocked.

The airport was so much bigger! And people were walking around everywhere, some in very... _ bold  _ hairdos and outfits. Paul couldn’t stop staring at them. 

“C’mon.” Ringo said, tugging his arm. “We have to get to the next New York flight!”

“Right.” Paul said, shaking his head to clear it. He couldn’t be all caught up in the things to look at here, he just had to get his job done and get back to 1964 before things got weird.

They weaved through crowds of people before getting to a list of outgoing flights. “1:30, Ontario...1:45, Seattle, 2:00, New York!” Ringo was reading off the blue screens. “Okay. It’s 1:30 right now, so we have thirty minutes to get to the New York gate.”

“But we don’t have any luggage,” Paul said as Ringo pulled him along. “Will they even let us on?”

“Of course they will.” Ringo said. “Now, let’s  _ go. _ ”

“Where have we got to go?” Paul asked. “The gate has to be close.”

“There’s some security stuff to go through.” Ringo answered. “Not as much as  _ nowadays,  _ but still, some.”

“Security?” _It takes 30 minutes to get through security? Goodness._ The two of them finally got to a long line of people who were all waiting to go through some sort of weird device thing. “What’s that?” “It’s something that scans you to make sure you don’t have a gun,” Ringo explained as they got closer. “All you have to do is walk under it. Simple.”

Paul was a bit unsettled by that. “What sets it off?”

“I dunno,” Ringo shrugged. “Metal stuff, I think.”

_ Metal?!  _ Wouldn’t it be going off left and right, then? There was metal stuff everywhere: women’s earrings, men’s watches, shoe soles, belt buckles! Paul gulped. How embarrassing it would be if he got caught with metal on him.

There was a woman standing at the device, motioning for him to walk through. Paul took a deep breath and passed under it. Thankfully, it didn’t set off an alarm or anything like that. He was home free.

Ringo went under too, and he didn’t set it off either. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “Now we just have to get plane tickets. Look for a booth that says  _ Flight Tickets,  _ would you?”

“Um...okay.” The two Beatles hurried through the airport gate, looking for the ticket booth. Paul was starting to lose hope, but by 1:45, Ringo finally spotted one.

Paul and Ringo raced toward it as soon as they could, finally getting to the clerk at the booth. They probably looked extremely disheveled, but Paul didn’t really care at the moment. “Hello, yes, we’d like two tickets to the New York flight at 2:00, please,” Ringo said.

The woman nodded and typed something in on her computer. It looked a lot older than the one at Paul and Nancy’s house, and it was slower. “Two?” the woman clarified.

“Yes,” Ringo nodded. “Quickly.”

The woman rolled her baby blue eyes. “I’m  _ going  _ as fast as I  _ can _ , sir.” she said. Strangely enough, she didn’t even seem to notice－or, if she did,  _ care _ －that they were Beatles.

The tickets printed out of a little black box at what seemed like a centimeter per second. “That’ll be $592, please. Cash or card?” the clerk said. Her nasally voice was quite monotonic. 

“Card,” Ringo replied. From his pocket emerged a silvery small card. Paul stared at it in shock. He knew what it was, sure, a credit card, but he had never used one before. The woman swiped it in the black box and handed it back to him. 

“There you go. Flight leaves at 2:00.” she said, and looked past Paul and Ringo. “Next?”

As the two of them walked away, Paul sighed in relief. “Thank goodness we managed to make it.” he said. “What gate is the plane leaving at?”

“Gate 11A.” Ringo answered with a quick look at his ticket. “C’mon, we only have 10 minutes left before we get there.”

Paul sighed again and picked up the pace. They snaked through lines of people and sharp, narrow hallways. Paul was having trouble keeping up. After all, he would be 38 this year. At least he wasn’t 77, though.

Finally, they got to Gate 11A. It was 1:56 when they finally stumbled in line to board. “I can’t believe we actually made it!” Paul said as they waited for their tickets to be checked. “That’s mad.”

“Everything about this is mad,” Ringo answered through pants to catch his breath. “I mean, I’m bloody  _ saving John Lennon  _ from dying. How crazy is that?”

They managed to get onto the plane safe and sound. After a few minutes of struggling to find their seats, Paul and Ringo finally,  _ finally  _ sat down beside each other and waited to get to New York City.

✦✦✦✦

Paul didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until Ringo began whispering his name. “Paul.  _ Paul,  _ wake up, we’re here.”

“Hm...what?” Paul slowly opened his eyes. His head was spinning and his vision was blurry, so he rubbed his eyes and looked around. “Are we in New York?”

“Yes,” Ringo said. Paul leaned forward to look out the window. It was dark out, but the city lights contrasted the dark immensely. Paul had never seen such a bright city before. New York didn’t look this big in 1964.

“Come on, we’re getting off.” Ringo said as he stood up and stretched. Paul did the same, noting how much more tired he felt, even at 38. It was so strange to be skipping around ages, and it almost made Paul laugh.

As they left the plane, Ringo said, “John was shot at around 10:00, and it’s about 9 right now. So that means we have an hour left to convince John  _ not _ to go out tonight.”

“An hour. Good.” Paul nodded. “That’s enough time.”

Ringo shivered a bit. “I’m a little nervous.”

Paul had to agree with him. How were they even going to get John not to go out? That was how he got shot anyway. Ringo had told him on the plane how it all happened. Paul just hoped they would make it in time to keep John from dying.

Outside, it was colder than an ice cube in a freezer. Paul shivered, wishing he had brought a heavier jacket before they tripped. Oh, well. There were plenty of taxis pulled up anyway, and soon they found an empty one.

The driver, unlike the one from earlier, was starstruck to be in the same car as Paul and Ringo. “Wow, hello,” the young guy said, his eyes wide. “Wh-where to?”

“Record Plant Studio,” Ringo replied, quick as a wink. 

“Okay,” the driver sped out of the airport. “So...what are you in town for?”

“Something...serious…” Paul answered warily. “Just don’t worry about it.”

The driver nodded slowly and kept driving. Paul stared out the window, his hands pressed into each other so hard they were turning red. He was so nervous. What if they didn’t make it in time? What if John refused to listen to them? What if one of  _ them  _ got shot instead?

After around twenty minutes, they pulled up in front of a dark small building. The white numbers 2200 were painted on the side. “Here we are,” said the driver. 

“Thanks, kid.” Ringo said, handing him some money. 

“You’re welcome!” the driver said as Ringo shut the door behind him. The taxi pulled away, somewhat begrudgingly, before they were left alone outside.

“What time is it?” Paul murmured as they stepped in front of the door. It was very quiet and sketchy-looking around here, and he had to keep taking glances over his shoulder.

“9:20.” Ringo answered with a swift look at his phone. “We have 40 minutes before...you know.” 

“So should we go in?”

“I guess.”

Paul stepped forward and slowly pushed the doors open. He padded into a lobby-looking room, but nobody was inside. As Ringo came up next to him, Paul noticed distant-sounding voices from down the hallway.

“Let’s just pretend that you’re  _ not  _ from 1964, alright, and I’m not from the future?” Ringo muttered. “It’ll make this whole thing a lot easier.”

“Okay.” Paul answered. “Well, let’s go, then.”

The two of them went single-file down the hall, peeking into dark rooms to find the one with John. “Are you sure he’s here?” whispered Paul as they got closer to the end of the hallway.

“Yes, he’s got to be.” Ringo replied. 

“Well, I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s probably in the last room,” Ringo shrugged. “I know we have the right place.”

“Okay,” Paul sighed. He did have to admit that the voices were sounding very close. He couldn’t help but ease up at the sound of John’s, familiar and comforting. They got to the last room and looked through the door’s window. Around the side of a bookcase Paul could see John leaned over a control panel. “He’s there!”

“See? Told you,” Ringo answered quietly. 

“What should we say?” Paul asked. “It’d be weird if we just told him  _ you’re going to get shot tonight. _ ”

“True.” Ringo leaned against the wall. “And we’re not really on the best terms right now, the three of us.”

“Why not?” Paul asked. 

“Well, the breakup was pretty bitter,” Ringo shrugged. “We kind of all went our separate ways. I mean, I think you and him still talked on the phone, but…”

Paul looked down at the ground. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Ringo said with an inward hiss. 

“Well, this is more important than all that.” Paul figured. “We have to go in and tell him. His life is more important than some petty stuff, right?”

Ringo glanced up at him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Before he could think twice about it, Paul opened the door and stepped inside. John turned around to look at him, and a small woman sitting in a swivel chair did as well. Paul stared at John, not knowing what to do at first. His friend looked  _ so  _ much older than he was the last time Paul had seen him...well, he was 40 now. 

“Paul?” John didn’t sound necessarily  _ pleased _ to see Paul. 

“I’m here too,” Ringo added from behind.

“What the hell?” John put down a pen he’d been holding. “Why are you both here?”

“It’s kind of important,” Paul said, going over to John. The woman beside him made a displeased face in the corner of his eye, but he didn’t act on it. “This might sound crazy, but...you’re going to get shot tonight.”

John’s eyebrows only went up for a millisecond. He stared at Paul and Ringo for a minute before sitting down on the control panel. “You both are mad.” he said. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Trust me, it  _ will _ .” Ringo told him. He seemed way more invested in this than Paul was. “Just please go home. Now. And don’t come out for the rest of the night.”

John just laughed. “I’m not going to do that.” he said. “I’ve got this record to finish, and if I don’t, I’ll－”

“The record doesn’t  _ matter  _ now.” Ringo said desperately. “Your  _ life  _ does.”

“How would you even  _ know _ I’m going to get shot? Are you from the future or something?” John asked. Paul shared a glance with Ringo, but he didn’t seem to care about the gravity of John’s last question. It sounded like he didn’t believe Paul or Ringo at all, which made Paul frustrated to the very core. Why couldn’t John just  _ trust  _ them for once?

“You are.” Ringo said. “I-I heard this guy in front of the Dakota talking about it. Remember the chap you signed  _ Double Fantasy  _ for? It’s  _ him _ .”

John drew his head back. “He was a perfectly nice guy, he’s not going to  _ shoot _ me.”

“Yes, he is.” Paul replied. If John was going to argue, he’d argue right back. He knew how John’s head worked, and even though he was 40 now he was still the same man. 

John stood up again. “Just leave,” he said. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s true, John,” Paul pressed. “Just  _ believe _ us!”

John’s brow furrowed in irritation and he turned to the woman in the chair. “Could you take them to the door, please, Yoko?” he asked, a hint of affection in his voice.

The woman stood up and shephered Paul and Ringo out the door. “John, wait,” Paul called, but Yoko was already taking them outside. She opened the door and sort of...well,  _ pushed  _ them out. 

Ringo didn’t seem like he had given up yet, though. “Yoko, we’re not lying,” he said. “This isn’t a joke. John is going to get shot tonight if you don’t do something.”

The light danced in Yoko’s dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was soft and light. Paul could see why John would like her, but she was such a far stretch from Cynthia. “But John just doesn’t believe you.”

“Maybe if you did, he’d change his mind.” Paul told her.

Yoko sighed. “Maybe, but...still. He’s afraid of getting shot. Making jokes about it wouldn’t be funny to him,” she said.

“It’s not a joke, though,” Ringo said. “If you want your husband to  _ live,  _ you would trust us.”

Yoko didn’t even look like she had budged a  _ little _ bit. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you know John. Reluctance is his middle name.” With that, she shut the door. 

Paul sighed, and Ringo sat on the curb, holding his head between his hands. “Well, that didn’t work at all,” Paul said as he stood over him. Ringo just closed his eyes and shook his head.

“He’s actually going to die,” the drummer said, his voice quiet. “Because he didn’t believe us, he’s going to die.”

“There has to be another way we can save him.” said Paul. 

“What?” Ringo sighed. He sounded exasperated, and Paul knew he didn’t like arguing much. “We’ve already tried to convince him here, but he－”

“What if we tried to stop Chapman  _ ourselves _ ?” Paul cut him off.

Ringo hesitated, but glanced up at Paul. “What?”

“We could do it,” Paul said, holding out his arms. “We just have to get to the Dakota a few minutes before Chapman shoots John. And we can call the police first, and then John will never get hurt.”

Ringo stared at him as he pondered Paul’s words. Then he sniffed and stood up. “I guess it could work,” he said. “But we’d have to go now.”

“So let’s go!” Paul said, and raced off. If they couldn’t save John by persuading him, they’d have to take action themselves.


	6. Pockets Full of Posies

It was 9:40 when they finally got to the Dakota. Paul had bolted through Central Park before Ringo finally begged him to get a taxi, so they had done that instead, which proved to be a lot faster than running. Once they got there, Paul practically leaped out of the car and into the cold night air.

“Finally here,” he said. “You’ve got your phone ready, right?”

“Yep.” Ringo replied as he glanced around warily. 

“Great. Now we just need to find Chapman.” Paul said. He was a bit nervous. His heart was pounding and he could feel a cold sweat coming on, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from saving John. “Where did you say he was?”

“In the bushes somewhere,” Ringo replied. Paul went ahead and looked through the shrubs in front of the entrance to the Dakota. He knew Chapman could point the gun at him anytime he wanted to and shoot. But Paul figured that his life meant less than John’s right now, and besides, there might be another him from 2019 walking around in 1964. He just had to figure out the logistics of it.

“See him?” Ringo asked, rocking on his heels. He didn’t seem to want to help Paul search for Chapman, as he was probably too worried about getting hurt. 

“No,” Paul shook his head. It was so cold out tonight, how could anybody stand being out here so late? “What time is it?”

“9:51. John should be coming around anytime now.” Ringo muttered so Chapman wouldn’t hear. If he was even there. Paul kept rummaging through the bushes to look for the guy, but all he saw were pine cones and fallen leaves. 

“Are you sure we’ve got the right place?” Paul said.

“Yes.” Ringo answered.

Paul sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Well, I’m not  _ seeing  _ him.” he said. 

Just then, a bright light shone from behind Paul. He opened his eyes and whirled around. A black car was pulling out in front of the building, and Ringo stepped back to let it pass. Paul wasn’t surprised to see John’s head pop up from the other side of the car. “I should have known you two loons would be out here,” he said when he spotted them, not sounding particularly nice. 

“We’re not budging, John,” Ringo said. He got right in John’s path, narrowing his eyes in determination. “Just get back in the car and everything will be fine.”

John pushed past him a little roughly. “No. I’m going to say goodnight to Sean.” he said. 

Paul glanced back at the bushes with a gulp. He knew Chapman was there. He had to be! And John was walking right in the direct path of the gun. John was going to die, and he was too stubborn to face it. There was only one way Paul could save him.

By putting himself in front of the bullet.

Paul didn’t waste any time. He pushed Ringo to the side and ran as fast as he could to John. Suddenly, there was a call from the dark: “ _ Mr. Lennon _ !”

And four shots, loud, like cracks.

Paul shoved himself right in front of John and closed his eyes tight. He knew this was going to hurt, but he had to take it. He heard a sharp cry from John as he toppled over onto the ground. 

Eyes still shut, Paul began to feel an intense pain in his arm, right one specifically. He felt John crouch down beside him and a few people get out of the car, but－ _ ouch _ _. _ He knew he’d been shot, but it was...worth it. For John.

When he finally opened his eyes, he noticed he was inside a car, probably the same black one that had pulled up. He heard loud, panicked voices, but he couldn’t quite catch what they were saying. And his arm still hurt.  _ Bad. _ But he knew that the pain he was feeling right now was a lot less bad than what it would be. He closed his eyes again.

The next time he was in a bright room, but that didn’t last for long. He couldn’t feel...anything at all, strangely enough. The thought came to Paul’s head that he was  _ probably  _ in a hospital. Again. And then he was asleep again, this time a deep, comforting one he never wanted to wake up from. 

✦✦✦✦

But he did.  _ Unfortunately. _

The room was less painfully bright, but it still hurt his eyes, even with the only source of light being the warm, kind orange glow of the lamp in the corner. Paul’s vision was a bit blurry, but he didn’t want to wipe his eyes in fear of hurting his arm.

He was seriously overwhelmed at the moment.

So. What had just happened? He tried to calm his spinning mind for a moment. He had saved John from being shot...and...had gotten hurt in the arm? Then he’d been taken to the hospital? And now he was...still in the hospital? He was pretty  _ sure  _ that was it. But he was still tired and in pain at the moment, so he couldn’t be sure.

Paul wanted to see the damage done to his arm, though. He blinked a couple times to clear his vision and slowly forced his head to lower so he could see his arm. 

It was rested nicely on a pillow, and white bandages were wound around almost the entire thing. Even just  _ looking  _ at it hurt, so Paul sighed and leaned back on the bed. He wanted to go back to sleep  _ so bad. _ Both of his hands were in pain, since one of them had an IV shoved into it and the other, well, yeah. 

But again. It was worth it.

And Paul was pretty sure his arm hadn’t been hit four times, like John’s back would have been. He had only really  _ felt  _ two, so...that was half of what it would have been. At least he wasn’t dead. And at least John wasn’t dead either. That was the best part.

Paul sighed and closed his eyes again. He normally  _ would  _ have commented on how insane this whole thing was, but the past days had been crazier than anything that had probably happened to anyone, so it was a sore subject at this point. Paul was just glad he was alive. It was more than John could say. Or...more than he  _ would have  _ been able to say. Because he was alive, and Paul had done his job. 


	7. One Down, Two to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul pulls through.

The next morning, Paul was feeling about a smidge better. The sun was streaming in through the curtained windows, and it  _ looked  _ like it was going to be a good day. Paul suddenly felt something like a remote next to him in the bed, and so he picked it up. It was some sort of remote, so he was right in that, but not for a television. There was a symbol on it that depicted a nurse, so Paul pressed it, hoping somebody would come.

He sighed and laid back, wondering where Ringo had gone. He hoped he was waiting for Paul. He most likely was. He wouldn’t just leave Paul, especially like this.

Now that he had more light, Paul took a good look at his arm. It was still on the same pillow, and it was bandaged up so tight it was nearly suffocating it. At least Paul couldn’t see any blood underneath it. It still hurt, but not quite as bad. He’d probably been pumped up with pain medication too, which helped.

Soon, a nurse came into the room. She didn’t have the blue scrubs on like Molly, but her dress was still the same color. “See,” she muttered to herself when she saw Paul was awake, “I  _ told  _ them you wouldn’t die!”

“Um. Hello,” Paul said as she briskly went over to him.

“Hi,” the nurse replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be better,” Paul answered with a tiny shrug. He didn’t want to move his arm that much for any reason.

“Well, we’ve fixed you up as best we can.” the nurse said. She leaned over Paul’s arm but didn’t touch it. “You got shot twice in there. John Lennon  _ just  _ barely missed the other two bullets. Isn’t it so exciting?  _ Paul McCartney saved John Lennon from a fatal wound _ . It sounds like it would be in a book. The papers are going to love that.”

Paul noted that she was probably a young nurse. Nobody else would have said something like that, and while Paul didn’t take offense to it, it was certainly strange. “Well, I’m going to get the doctor. Your friends have all been worried sick about you!”

Paul watched as she left the room. Molly had said the same thing about Nancy. They were a bit similar. 

Instead of the doctor coming in next, John and Ringo burst into the room. The door swung so far open it clashed against the wall, but none of the two seemed to care very much about that. John went ahead of Ringo and kind of...fell into Paul, hugging him so tight it felt like a snake was curling around him. “You saved my life,” John murmured.

“Yeah, I know,” Paul answered. “Now you should learn to believe me when I tell you these kinds of things.”

John pulled back, his eyes seeming a bit watery behind his glasses. “I’ll believe anything you say,” he said. “Even if you tell me the world’s going to end tomorrow, I’ll trust you on that.”

“Well, I know for a fact it’s  _ not,  _ but…” Paul trailed off.

“Why in the hell did you  _ do _ that?” Ringo demanded, though he didn’t seem to be genuinely angry. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Paul glanced over at John. “Yeah, but...I didn’t, so…”

Ringo just shook his head with a laugh. “Oh, god, Paul. What am I going to do with you?”

_ Send me back to 1964, why don’t you? _ Paul thought. If saving John had gone like  _ this,  _ imagine what would happen when they got to George or Brian. Paul didn’t really  _ want  _ to risk this kind of thing again, but thankfully, neither Brian nor George’s death would be as dangerous as this was.

A doctor entered soon after. He looked a lot older than Dr. Weeks, and a lot more stressed. “Oh, I see you’ve already... _ found  _ him.” he said to John and Ringo. “Good morning, Mr. McCartney.”

“Morning.” Paul said, using his better arm to make a little wave.

“Alright.” the doctor said with a sigh. “Might as well get right down to it. You were shot in the arm 2 times. We managed to get both bullets out and stitch you up nice and easy. You  _ seem _ to be doing well, so we don’t need to worry about you dying or anything.”

“That’s...that’s good.” Paul said with a nod. 

“You can be discharged today,” the doctor added with a glance down at his papers, “as soon as we take another look at that injury. We have to make sure it’s not infected or anything.”

“Um,” Paul swallowed. He hoped this wasn’t going to hurt. “Okay.”

He felt John’s hand on his, trying to be at least a little bit comforting. Paul knew they weren’t going to poke and prod at his arm, but it was only natural to be nervous, wasn’t it?

The doctor came over and slowly began taking some of the bandage layers off. Paul looked away, not quite wanting to see his wound yet. “Alright…” he heard the doctor sigh from beside him. “Looks good to me. It’s not too irritated and seems to be healing up just fine.”

John, Paul, and Ringo let out a collective sigh of relief. 

The doctor replaced Paul’s bandages once more and leaned back. “Okay,” he said, considerably brightening now that their meeting was over. “You can go ahead and wash up, and then we’ll see how soon we can get you out of here.”

Paul nodded as the doctor left, and once the door was closed he leaned back and sighed. “Phew,” he said. “That was a close one.”

“I didn’t think he was gonna  _ hurt  _ you,” Ringo said. 

“Yeah, I know, but you can never be sure.” Paul replied. 

“I’ll help you get out of bed,” John offered hastily. Paul knew he probably felt guilty about not believing them and felt bad that Paul was hurt instead of him. 

After a bit of situating and trying to figure out how to do it, John finally helped Paul out of bed and to the bathroom. It was hard to manage things without the use of one arm, but luckily John and Ringo were there to help. He was feeling a lot better by the time he eased into one of the chairs by the window, not really wanting to go back to bed.

There was some awkward silence for a minute, before John looked up again. There was a strange sort of darkness in his eyes. “I just want to say thank you again.” he said. “And...that I’m sorry.”

Paul gazed up at him with a smile. “It’s okay,” he replied. “I forgave you even before it happened.”

John looked at him with such a gratefulness in his eyes it was overwhelming. It was true, Paul had forgiven him. He would never hold a grudge against John. Paul was just happy he was alive.

✦✦✦✦

Two days later, Paul finally decided it was time to leave 1980. He and Ringo had been staying at John’s almost entirely white apartment in the Dakota, but now that the job had been done, they didn’t really have any reason to stay anymore. 

“Are you sure you’ve got to leave?” John said as they were waiting by the airport gate. “We would be happy if you stayed longer.”

“It’s okay.” Paul shrugged in reply, but he used his left shoulder a bit more than the right. Even if his arm was mostly okay, it still had a bit of a dull ache to it. “We’ll see each other again.”

“Yeah.” Ringo nodded. “Plenty of times!”

“Are you sure?” John said with a tilt of his head. “I just...you know, I don’t want to go so long without seeing you both again.” He said that about both of them, but he was looking more at Paul than Ringo.

“You won’t,” Paul assured him. “We just have to meet up more.”

“It’s such a bother that we live so far away, though.” Ringo said as he crossed his arms. “Plane rides are the worst.”

John glanced over at the plane waiting for them. “Well, I was thinking about moving back to London lately.” he said. “Being in New York has been nice, but I want Sean to see where  _ I  _ grew up. And it’s...also not the safest here.”

“Yeah.” Paul agreed. “You should move back.”

“Maybe I will.” John answered with a smile.

Suddenly a voice came through the overhead speakers. “Flight 3224, now boarding. Again, Flight 3224, now boarding.”

“Well, we’ve got to go, then.” Ringo said with a sigh. He began walking to the tunnel after a long hug from John, but Paul wanted to wait a little longer.

“Ugh.” John said as he gently embraced Paul. “I don’t want you to go.”

Paul glanced up at his old friend. It felt like this was the last time he’d see John in ages, even though they were going back to 1967 in a short time. It would be the last time he’d see  _ this _ John in a long time. He sighed and smiled. “Goodbye,” he said wistfully.

He spotted John waving slowly as they boarded the plane. And he knew this was a job well done.


	8. Figuring It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water proves to be a bit of an issue.

It was close to evening when they finally got back to 57 Wimpole Street. Paul was exhausted, and it took him awhile to get out of the cab. He finally stepped out, though, and it pulled away in annoyance. He sighed as he stared at the horrendous crack in the sidewalk that had brought him here. Oh, well, if he had never found it John would be dead.

“Okay, here we go again.” Ringo said, his jaws parting in a yawn. “I’m tired.”

“We can sleep once we get to 1967.” Paul joked.

“D’you think there’s going to be two of you there?” Ringo asked. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Paul shrugged. “I hope not.”

“Same here…” Ringo yawned. “But if there is, that’s going to be one hell of a conversation.”

Paul wearily smiled. “Alright, let’s just get this over with.”

The two of them stepped in front of the crack and Paul tilted his head up to the sky. It was a rosy pink, with the faintest stars in the sky. “How long do you think...stars last, Ringo?” Paul said.

Ringo just shrugged and shook his head as Paul took his hand. 

“D’you think it’s…” He quickly did the math in his head. “Thirteen lightyears?”

Ringo sighed and narrowed with. “One...two...three!” 

Paul stepped forward with a deep breath, feeling his shoe touch the crack and toppling over. As everything faded to black again, he hoped this whole thing would be done soon.

✦✦✦✦

This time he took no time waking up. It was like he had never closed his eyes. But he didn’t stand up automatically. As his vision cleared again, he realized he wasn’t even on the street.

_Uh-oh._

Paul lifted his head and looked around. He was in a pretty small room, but it didn’t look like any hospital this time. It was like a bedroom of sorts, and Paul was definitely in bed.

So...what was going on?

He lifted his wounded arm, only to find there were no bandages and no injuries on it anymore. Okay, that was understandable. Paul had probably gotten back to 1967, so that meant he hadn’t stopped John from getting shot yet. So his arm would have never been hurt.

Well, that was a good thing. But he still needed to know where he was.

Paul glanced over at the nightstand. There was only a lamp, a box of tissues, and a clock. Current time, 10:40 am.

Turning around, Paul noticed a mirror in front of the bed he was in. Carefully, he studied his appearance. Not much had changed from 1964, except his face had thinned out a little bit and he didn’t have the typical mop top hairstyle anymore. It was a bit taller and longer. He still looked pretty much the same. 

At least there was a window. Paul climbed out of bed and pulled the tan curtains away. Outside was a wide blue river, and then beyond that a bunch of small houses and rolling hills. This wasn’t England, definitely not. So where was he?

He tried to remember what Ringo said. _When Brian died, he overdosed. Right?_ Ringo had said more on the plane, though… _We had been traveling somewhere, but we had to cut it short when Brian died. Where were we, though?_

This was the only thing he needed to remember. And he didn’t. Great.

“Okay.” Paul stood up and sighed. “Maybe somebody outside could tell me? Yeah! Definitely.” But he didn’t want it to sound _weird,_ asking where they were. Maybe he could just pretend like it was on the tip of his tongue!

Just then he heard a few rapid knocks on the door. Hoping it was Ringo, Paul went over and opened the door. But instead of Ringo it was...John.

He looked a lot different. His hair was longer, and he was actually wearing his glasses. It took Paul a minute to realize it was him. _Dang it. I’ll just have to ask him,_ he thought with a sigh.

“Morning.” John said, nodding down the hall. It looked like they were in some sort of hotel. “Coming down for breakfast?”

“Uhm…” Paul swallowed. “Yeah, I’m coming.” This was so weird. This John didn’t know that Paul would save his life in the future. And Paul couldn’t really tell him. 

“You’ve been asleep for a while.” John said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m...I’m good.” Paul turned around and looked for a suitcase of any sort. Finding one, he began to search for actual clothes, since he had noticed he was in nightclothes.. “Hey, Johnny? What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“No, what day? In numbers?”

“August 27th.”

Paul’s eyes widened for a moment. _The same day as_ _Brian’s death! I don't even have_ ** _one_ ** _day to save him_ , he thought. _Oh, god._

After he got dressed, he and John went through a couple hallways and then got to what looked like a school cafeteria. _Why are we in a school?_ Paul thought briefly, but he still held off on asking John where they were. He had to wait for the right time.

“Geo and Ringo already got food, I think.” John said, scanning the packed tables. “Oh, there they are.”

Paul whirled around faster than he intended. He hadn’t seen George in what felt like forever, even though it had only been five days. (Maybe. He’d have to do the math on that one.) Seeing George’s familiar face was comforting to him (even if he had a moustache), and he sighed in relief. 

There was a buffet of sorts where he and John got their food. Paul piled so much onto his plate that he didn’t know if he was going to finish it all. He hadn’t had a good meal in a while.

“Wow.” John grunted when he saw Paul’s breakfast. “You sure you’re going to have all that?”

“Yeah.” Paul nodded. “I haven’t eaten well in a while.”

“We had a huge dinner last night…?” John said with a tilt of his head. “You ate like a pig.”

“Oh, shush.” Paul nudged John’s shoulder, and he just laughed. _Phew, that was a close one._ Paul thought as he sat beside John at the other two’s table. He avoided the looks they got from other people around them. All four Beatles together must be a sight nowadays!

As Paul ate, he and Ringo shared one look. They had both made it, good. Now that he knew where Ringo was, he could ask him all he wanted. But not while John and George were around. 

After he finished, he was stuffed, but in a good way. At John and Yoko’s house in 1980, he hadn’t had anything that was as filling as this. Ringo suddenly stood up and cleared his throat. “Me an’ Paul are gonna take a walk.”

Paul glanced up, and it took a moment for the gears to turn in his head. “Oh. Yeah.” He stood up as well. 

“Come back at 12:00.” George told them. Thankfully, he and John didn’t really seem interested in coming with them. “We have a seminar then.”

“Alright,” Ringo nodded and pulled Paul out of the room and outside into a small courtyard. Bushes and flowers were everywhere, and the two of them sat down on a stone bench to talk.

“So,” Ringo sighed as he sat to face Paul. “We both made it.”

“Made it to what?” Paul quipped, and laughed at the brief look of panic in Ringo’s blue eyes. “Just kidding.”

“Ugh.” Ringo rolled his eyes with a smile. “I hate you sometimes.”

Paul grinned, but they had more important things to discuss. “So, where are we?” he asked. “I’ve never seen this place before.”

“We’re in Bangor,” Ringo answered. “There’s this guy called the Maharishi that’s giving us a seminar on...meditation or something, but that doesn’t really matter, since we’re not going. We have to get back to London in a few hours. Brian dies _today_.”

“Okay,” Paul stood up and began to pace, racking up thoughts and ideas in his head. “So, do we fly there?”

“I don’t know where any airport is.” Ringo shrugged. “We took the train here.”

“The train? How long did it take to get here?” Paul said.

“A while.” Ringo answered. “At least, from what I remember. It’s a bit fuzzy around these years.”

“Why?” Paul asked, tilting his head.

Ringo shrugged. “We did a lot of smoking... _you_ know.” he said. “But for the sake of fame I had to remember the big details!”

Paul sighed in relief. “Okay. Well, I guess we have to take the train, then.” he said. “At least we’ll get back before he tries anything.”

There was a glint of reluctance in Ringo’s eyes, and he glanced toward the door they had come out from. “I dunno about that whole... _we_ part,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Paul sat up straighter. 

It was Ringo’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know if we should both go.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. Why not? They were both in this together! They had been from the start! Why did he want to stay here? “Why not?” Paul demanded. He wasn’t angry or anything, just...lost.

“It’ll look less suspicious if only you go,” Ringo said, holding his hands up in defense. “You could say that you weren’t feeling well or something. But if we _both_ went, that would look...very weird.”

Paul had to admit that was true. “But don’t you _want_ to go?” he said. “That’s why you came anyway! To help me save Brian!”

Ringo blinked slowly. “You know I do,” he said. “But it’s not my choice. Trust me, I really wish I could come with you and see Eppy again. But I _can’t_ , for the sake of this whole thing to work. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine on your own.”

“How do you know that?” Paul said. He was desperate for Ringo to change his mind, but it was clear he wasn’t. Paul was crushed and lost. He didn’t know where to go or what to do now. He hung his head. “What will I even do?”

“Take the train.” Ringo advised him. “Pack now and leave. It’s the fastest and best way to get out of here.”

Paul looked up at him and sighed again. “Alright.” 

Ringo then smiled comfortingly. “Don’t worry. Everything will go according to plan!”

“I hope it will,” Paul said. 

As he walked back to his room, he was still trying to grasp the fact that Ringo wouldn’t－no, _couldn’t_ －come with him on the trip back to England. How was he going to do this alone? 

Paul gently opened the door to his room and stepped inside. He’d saved John alone. Well, Ringo had been there to help, but he was really the one to do it. At least Brian would come with so much _pain_.

He began to pack up what little things he had taken out of his suitcase, trying to have a positive look on this. He zipped up his suitcase and looked at himself one more time in the mirror. This was going to be fine. All he had to do was brave the storm and see what happened when he got to the end. 

“Paul? What are you doing?”

“Ahh!” Paul whirled around to see John leaning against the doorframe. “Goodness John, you sc-scared me.”

“Are you packing up?”

Paul glanced down at his suitcase. “No. I mean, yes, I mean－”

“Why?” John looked a bit irritated, but more confused.

Paul fumbled for an answer, but he couldn’t quite think of one. He had to just...tell him. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Brian’s going to overdose today. I need to stop him.”

John’s eyes grew wide. “What? How on earth would you know that? Did he tell you?”

“No,” Paul said slowly, “but I found a letter in his blazer the other day. He left it at the studio.” He hoped John wouldn’t contradict him. “It said so.”

John looked more concerned than mad now. “What? And you didn’t tell anybody?” he said.

“I didn’t know how to let you know,” Paul said. “I was just going to go today. I didn’t want...you to worry…”

John stood up straighter. “Well, don’t you think I’d want to come with you?” he said. 

Paul glanced up. He hadn’t considered that. “No.”

“Well, I do. You know that Brian’s...close to me.” John said, glancing away from Paul. “I still don’t get why you’d want to leave without telling any of us. But I am coming with you.”

Paul didn’t know what to think about that. John coming with him to save Brian was...risky. But it would be nice to have a companion with him, and his explanation had convinced him. However, he thought back to Ringo’s words. “If we _both_ went, it’d be very weird.” But John going wouldn’t be? Paul was stumped. He just had to say _okay,_ though, and John walked off to go pack.

Paul took the suitcase down from the table it had been on and pressed his hands into the handle. Okay. John was coming with. That was okay. At least someone was going along.

It hardly seemed like a moment before John was in front of the door again. “Ready?” he said. It was so odd, like he wasn’t even thinking twice about this.

“Y-yeah.” Paul answered as he pulled his bag out of the room. “So you’re really sure you want to help? I thought you might have liked to stay here.”

John shrugged. “I don’t care _that_ much about this,” he replied. “I mean, sure, I’m _interested_. But not quite as much as George is.”

“True,” Paul said, even though he had no clue how interested George might be in whatever they were doing.

“C’mon.” John gave a fleeting glance to the door. “If we get out of here fast, maybe nobody will see us go.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t want George or Ringo to _see_ we’re leaving,” John said. “Or anybody else, for that matter. There will probably be plenty of press and interviewers that we don’t have time for.”

Paul nodded slowly. “Right.”

They exited out of some back door swiftly and went outside. It was cold, even for August, but Paul didn’t mind it. He just followed John, who seemed to know where he was going. Paul kept looking over his shoulder and hoped nobody would see them. It felt odd to try and leave this place. It was like they were escaping prison, which is the last thing Paul would ever want.

They began to reach a tall slope covered in trees. It looked like they were about to plunge into the woods. “Where are we going?” Paul murmured as John began to walk down, Paul following hesitantly.

“This is the closest way to the station,” John answered vaguely. “Well, without using roads, that is.”

“Oh,” Paul nodded. “Because we don’t want anybody to see us. Right.”

They pushed through some more undergrowth before Paul started to hear the rushing of the river. John kept going, though, determined to push ahead. “Wait...we’re not... _swimming_ , right?” Paul said.

John glanced back at him. “Yeah...we are.”

“What?” Paul’s eyes grew wide. “Why?”

“Because it’s the fastest way to the station! It’s just across the river,” John told him as they got closer to the shore. Paul’s eyes grew wide as he stared across the massive wide river. 

“How will we even get _across_ that thing?” he said.

John crouched down and sent his suitcase floating across the gray water. “We float on these.” he said.

“But what if they sink?”

“Who cares? Just swim!” John said. He waded into the water and pushed himself off, his arms grabbing tightly onto his bag. Paul watched him go, and he noticed how the suitcase was hardly sinking at all, and even carrying him across the river.

“Alright,” Paul sighed. He set the suitcase in the water and then got in. Even for August, the water was very cold. Paul tried to keep up with John as best he could, but water splashed into his face and he could feel the current pushing him down stream. 

He saw John get to the other side in one piece and tried his best to maneuver his way over. He got close to the shore and grabbed onto a tree root, hoping he could pull himself up. But the suitcase was slipping from underneath him, and suddenly he felt it cave. His hand slid off the root and he went under.

“Damn!” he hissed as he fought to get to the surface. He finally broke through and got a bit of air. Forcing his stinging eyes open, he spotted John hurrying over to him, but he was sailing away fast. “Paul! Stay up!” John yelled.

“I’m _trying_.” Paul gritted his teeth and attempted to tread water, but the water was too fast for him to do it. John got over to him and held his arm out so Paul could grab onto it. Paul seized John’s hand, and the older of the two tugged him out with such force that they both fell over onto the shore.

“Well.” John sat up after a few moments of them both trying to catch their breaths. “That was certainly interesting.”

Paul sighed and looked over at him. “Uh-huh…”

“And your stuff is gone.” 

“Uh-huh…” Oh, well. It didn’t mean much to him anyway.

John sat up and brushed the dirt off of himself. “Okay. Let’s go.” He helped Paul up and the both of them turned around and kept walking, sopping wet and already tired. 

Paul glanced up at John. “Do you still want to do this?”

John narrowed his eyes and stared at Paul. “Of course.” he said briefly and then kept walking. Paul watched him in shock. He’d thought John might have turned back after what had just happened. But he knew John and Brian had always been really close, so there was no way John wasn’t going to try and help him. They just had to get to London first, and based on what had just happened, Paul wasn’t entirely sure how that was going to go.


	9. A Trip and A Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW! Mentions of overdosing in this chapter!

When they finally got to the station, Paul had to sit down for a minute to rest while John booked tickets for the 12:00 train to London. People were staring, of course. Two Beatles, sopping wet and probably looking like crap, sitting in a train station waiting. It must have been a sight.

John sat beside Paul on a random bench and sighed. “It leaves in thirty minutes.” he said. “What do you wanna do till then?”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know. What is there to do?”

John looked around. “Not much.” He took off his glasses and began to rub the water droplets off of the lenses. “Ugh. I’m worried about Brian.” 

“Me too.” Paul said. “I hope we get there in time.”

“What scares me is...what if we  _ don’t _ ?” John said, voice a bit mumbly. He had never been comfortable with sharing his emotions. “What if he’s already...you know...when we get there?”

“I don’t know,” Paul said absently.  _ Well, I could just go back to Wimpole and try to go back again. But what would John think of that…? _ “I guess there’s...nothing to be done.”

John shifted in his seat. That thought obviously made him outrageously unsettled, and after that he kept sneaking glances at the station clock, tapping his fingers restlessly.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, a voice finally came over the speaker. First it said something in Welsh, then: “12:00 train for London, boarding now. 12:00 train for London, boarding now.”

“Finally.” John stood up so fast he staggered a little bit, but Paul steadied him. Making their way over to the train, John feverishly gave the conductor and went inside. 

“You seem so antsy.” Paul commented with a snort.

“Yeah, of course I am!” John answered as they sat down in the seat closest to the door. Paul stared out the window at the moving passengers below them. “Brian’s about to  _ die _ and I have to make sure he doesn’t. I have to.”

Paul watched as John eased back into his seat. He seemed very pent-up, so Paul decided he probably wouldn’t want to be bothered right now. As the train took off from the station, Paul glanced absently at a complimentary magazine, but he wasn’t really thinking about anything he was reading. 

How was he going to stop Brian from dying? He remembered Ringo telling him a few details on how it went. Brian had been just going to bed when he overdosed on sleeping pills. But Paul hadn’t been able to really get any more information on that. But it was enough to just start on a rough plan.

Maybe they could just...knock on the door and  _ ask _ Brian not to take so many pills? Maybe they could explain why it would be bad? And then he wouldn’t? No, that would be  _ way _ too easy.

Maybe they could get in through the window, and pour all of his pills out in the sink, then leave. It would be risky, and it would scare the hell out of Brian, but at least he wouldn’t die. But Paul knew Brian was extra,  _ extra _ careful about locking everything in his house, so it might not even work.

Paul sighed as the rocking of the train made his eyelids grow heavy. He leaned his head back against the train seat, hoping he’d get a better idea if he just...had some...sleep…

✦✦✦✦

He was woken up by a sudden lurch in the train. Blinking wearily, he looked over at John, who was thumbing through the magazine he’d been reading earlier. Glancing outside the window, he saw a vaguely familiar London station. They’d made it here, and it was getting dark. Had he really been asleep for that long?

Paul sighed, rubbing his eyes. He had been asleep for a long time. But he still didn’t have any good ideas for how they were going to help Brian...not die.

John stood up suddenly. “We’re here. How much time do we have left?”

Paul sighed and stretched. “I don’t know. But probably not long.”

The both of them exited the train and the station not long after. It took John about half a second to find a cab, and the both of them poured in before anybody could see them. “Where to?” the driver said, and John answered with Brian’s address. He didn’t seem very enthralled that they were Beatles, and it made Paul relieved. Even though he was only three years from 1964, people might still ask him questions he didn’t know how to answer.

“So how are we going to do this?” John said in a hushed tone. “Did you have any ideas?”

Paul shrugged and rattled off the two he had come up with, but John didn’t seem very satisfied with any of them. “No, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We have to be more forceful than that. Just pouring the drink out in the  _ sink _ isn’t going to work. He’ll just refill it.”

Paul nodded. “I know.”

“We’ll just have to take action ourselves.” John said, punching his palm with a fist. “Break down the door, tell him what’s on our minds! He’ll have to listen to us then.”

_ We tried that with you, and you didn’t listen, _ Paul thought for a moment, but then sat back. “Good idea,” he answered.  _ Maybe it will work, anyway. John and Brian are two very different people _ .

“Hey, Paul?” John said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

John turned to face him and stared into his eyes very firmly. “How did you know Brian might overdose today?”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed. “I...I told you,” he said. “I found a note in his blazer.”

John drew his head back. He looked very suspicious. “Brian didn’t leave his blazer at the studio. He wasn’t even wearing a blazer last time we saw him.”

_ Crap. _ Paul’s heart was sinking through every layer of the earth imaginable, and he could feel his face flushing, all the color following his heart down into the pits of hell.  _ What am I supposed to say now? _ “Uh...um...well, I…he  _ said _ …”

John’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t talk to him. You were at a dentist’s appointment when he came.”

Paul was so tense he could feel every nerve in his body exploding like a firecracker. He had to tell John the truth, even though he would never, ever believe it. His words in 1980:  _ If you told me the world was ending tomorrow, I’d believe it,  _ echoed in his head, and he swallowed, closing his eyes in defeat.

“I’m a time traveler.”

John stared at him for what felt like three hours. Paul expected him to laugh, but John’s reaction was anything but that. It was anger. Pure anger. And Paul didn’t have to hear John say anything for it to get across to him, it was just the pure livid look in his eyes. Paul turned away from him, finally, knowing John was horribly furious but not being able to do anything about it now.

The rest of the drive to Kingsley Hill was very quiet. The driver put on the radio, but he kept changing the channels because it was all Beatles and he could sense that the two didn’t want to listen to themselves. Paul did, though. He heard a glimpse of a fantastically complex song he was highly interested in, but it cut off before he could invest in it. 

Finally, they drove up a long slope to Brian’s house. John paid the driver and the both of them stepped out. Paul brushed himself off and glanced up, but John was already going up to the door. He was still going strong on his whole “ _ let’s knock it down _ ” idea.

“John, wait!” Paul called as he followed him up the grassy hill. He hoped John would listen to him, even if he was mad. “Let’s just try knocking first!”

John scowled, but gave a few, rapid knocks, loud and clear as they rang through the night air.

Then there was silence. It was strange, nobody was coming, though all the lights were switched on. John knocked again, and Paul could see the visible worry on his face. Paul was nervous too. Had he been too late?

“We have to go in.” John said gruffly. 

“Is there a key?” Paul asked, wanting everything but the door knocked down. 

John, still glaring, kicked up the doormat. Out fell a shiny, silver key, and John picked it up, jamming it into the keyhole. He pushed the door open so hard everything rattled for a moment. “I’ll see what’s going on,” John said. “Wait out here.”

Paul did so, but he was still breaking out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t hear any talking from inside at all, just some rummaging and then complete silence. 

Then, John rounded the corner. 

And god, if Paul’s face had been white earlier John’s was about a million times paler. He looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in years. And Paul’s stomach followed his heart and the color in his own face right down to the center of the earth. He knew what had happened right at that moment.

Brian was dead, and they were too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh...


	10. The Flies on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW! Mild mentions of overdosing...
> 
> Take two!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed, I have changed my username from lemonade-bubbles to this. Anyways sorry for the long wait on this one. 🍋

Paul stood there for about a millisecond before he swayed, having to hold onto the porch rail for support. This had never happened to him before. He had never...been too late…

As he stared at the ground, he could imagine the thoughts racing through John’s head as well as his own. He was probably devastated. Probably? He was _definitely_ devastated. And so was Paul. 

He slid down the porch railing and sat on the steps, staring out at the road. He didn’t know what to even think. How was he supposed to go tell Ringo that he had _failed_ ? How was he supposed to go on without Brian? How was the _band_?

Paul sighed, trying not to let tears cloud his vision. There had to be another way they could fix this. 

“Paul.”

Paul turned his head a bit. John was looking up at him very seriously, his eyes burning a hole into his friend’s. “What did you say in the car earlier?”

Paul shrugged. “I dunno.”

“You said you were a time traveler.”

“Mhm.” _Great, now he’s going to rag on me for this._

John stepped forward a few paces. “I don’t know if that was just a joke…” he said, “or if, in some bloody way, it’s _true._ But if it is, couldn’t we just go back and try again?”

Paul stared at John in surprise as a glimmer of hope sparked in his head. “Y-yeah. I mean, I guess we could.”

John blinked a few times. “Really?”

Paul nodded and forced himself to stand up straight again. “I mean, I don’t know if it would work, but it would be alright to try?”

John still looked pretty uneasy with the whole thing, but he just nodded a few times. At least they were in London now. All they had to do was get to 57 Wimpole, and then, maybe they could give this another shot.

✦✦✦✦

It took them a while to flag another car down, but they managed to get to Wimpole all in one piece. John still looked extremely unsure that this was even going to work, or if Paul was telling the truth or not. “We’re at Jane’s house?” John said as they stepped out of the cab they’d gotten.

“Yeah,” Paul said. “This is...how you do it.” He stared down at the crack in the sidewalk that had helped him so many times. Hopefully it would aid him once more.

“You look at that crack?” John said, scowling.

“No,” Paul shook his head. “You have to...well...trip on it.”

John looked like he was about to burst out in laughter but also thought Paul was mad. “Trip on it?”

“Yep.”

“Like...fall?”

“Mhm.”

John pursed his lips together and closed his eyes. “You know what, Paul? I think I’m just going to _go_ －” He turned around, but Paul grabbed his arm.

“No. I’m not lying, I promise. It’ll work.”

John narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Do you want Brian to live or not?” Paul said. Yes, he was going to play that card. 

John eased up a bit at that, and his gaze grew dark like gathering clouds. “Fine,” he said, pulling his arm away from Paul. “But if this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

Paul took a deep breath as they both faced the crack. Knowing John, his claim probably hadn’t been wrong. He looked up at the sky. Only a few stars were visible, but he sighed. “How long do you think stars last, John?”

John scoffed. “I dunno－”

“Do you think they last…” _Well, we probably need to go back around...three hours. Yeah, that’ll do it._ “Three lightyears long?”

Then, he grabbed John's hand and both of them lurched forward. Paul felt the familiar sensation of falling and he smacked the head on the sidewalk for the fourth time.

✦✦✦✦

This time, it took him a bit longer to come back. But he finally drew his head up from the sidewalk, blinking a couple times. He saw John next to him, sitting up and staring at the sky. It was lighter. 

It had worked!

“So...you weren’t lying, were you?” John said, looking over at Paul. “That’s a first.”

Paul smiled. “You jerk.”

“C’mon, we don’t have much time.” John said. He grabbed Paul’s hand and pulled him up. They locked eyes for a moment, and Paul could see the same look that John had given him after Paul had been shot in 1980. It was a look of trust.

“Flag down a cab,” Paul said as they began walking down the sidewalk. The streets were too quiet tonight. They didn’t have a lot of time to do this.

They finally got one at the end of the road and piled into it. Paul was surprised to find the same driver that had taken them to Brian’s house the first time. John rattled off Brian’s address again and the two shared a little snicker. The driver didn’t suspect a thing.

“We have to do it right this time.” Paul said. “No hesitating, we’re just going to go right in.”

“Don’t talk to _me_ about that,” John laughed. “You were the one that wanted me to _knock_ first.”

“True, but...just so you know,” Paul said.

It was quiet for a few minutes, but then John turned to look at him again. “So...are you from the future or somethin’? Is that how you knew Brian was going to die?”

“Well...no,” Paul shook his head. “I’m _from_ 1964, but then I was blasted all the way to 2019. And then...I…” He decided to skip the part about John and George’s death. “...found out about Brian dying, and I came back here to, well, save him.”

John’s eyes grew wide. “So you’re _really_ from the past?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s crazy.” John said with a laugh. “You don’t know about...what...six albums we’ve done! Well, unless you figured it out in 2019. What’s it like there?”

“Not that different, really.” Paul shrugged. He could tell the driver was looking at them funny, but he didn’t care. “I mean, they have these odd little devices that light up and do lots of things. And people wear different clothes, but not _all_ different. I didn’t really see much of it before I came back here.”

The cab finally pulled up beside Brian’s home. John got out first, and by the time Paul had left the car, he was already unlocking the door. Paul’s eyes narrowed as a bit of panic rose up in him. They didn’t even have a _plan._ What was John doing?!

But he pushed the door open anyway, and Paul looked over John’s shoulder to see inside. The lights were on again, but Paul couldn’t hear anything...again. He sighed in defeat. Had they been too late again?

John stepped inside and creeped around, turning the corner toward the kitchen. Paul followed him this time, looking around and hoping Brian would be alive. If he wasn’t...well, Paul didn’t want to hit his head on the sidewalk _again._

Suddenly, Paul jumped as he heard a scream from around the corner. Then a loud yell: “John! What on earth are you doing here?”

Paul sighed again, but this time in relief. Brian was still alive!

He looked up at Brian, who seemed just as startled as before. “And...and Paul, too?” he said. “You both are supposed to be in Bangor!”

Paul’s gaze drew down to the glass in Brian’s hand. There were _six_ sleeping pills floating in what looked like some time of alcohol. Paul took a deep breath and snatched it out of his hand without warning. “ _Don’t_ drink this.”

Brain wiped some of the spilled drink off of his shirt, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “What? Why?”

“It’s gonna kill you,” Paul answered. He went over to the sink and dumped it all out, turning on the faucet until every last pill was down the drain. “That was too much for you to handle.”

“But I take six every night,” Brian replied. “And how would you know it’s going to kill me?”

“Just trust me, alright?” Paul said. At least Brian didn’t seem to be fighting him too much. The manager just looked more frightened than angry. “The alcohol and the pills isn’t a good mix.”

“But…” Brian trailed off. “Fine. I’ll just...have water, then.”

“You have to promise, though,” John said firmly, leaning against the counter, “that you won’t drink six of those pills with...whatever you were pouring in there _ever_ again.”

Brian stared at John for a while, and his gaze softened. “Alright, fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If you two are so worried about it, then I won’t.”

“You promise?” John leaned forward.

“Yeah, yeah,” Brian nodded as he began to fill up the same glass with water from the refrigerator. Paul could tell he was very reluctant to listen to them, but he wasn’t going to let Brian die _again_. He would just stay here a bit longer so he could make sure Brian would be okay. 

Brian stared at them for a minute, seemingly knowing they were watching him. He nodded toward his living room. "Go ahead, make yourselves at home. If you want to stay and watch over me like I'm at a nursing home." he said. 

Paul glanced over at John, who seemed comfortable with the idea of settling down for a couple minutes. So while Brian filled up his glass again, the two of them wandered over to the sofa and sat down, a bit uncomfortable. Paul noticed John was watching Brian like a hawk, and only took his eyes off of him to blink. Paul normally would have laughed, but he knew John would be offended. 

He gazed around the room for a little bit, but it was nothing he hadn't seen before, though he hadn't gone to Brian's house much. He made an inner promise to visit more often now that he knew life could be as fragile as glass. 

Speaking of which…

He looked over at the kitchen, expecting to see Brian there, putting a couple less pills in his glass. But instead of his manager by the faucet, he didn't see anything except the cabinets behind it. "John!" he hissed, standing up. John looked like he had been nodding off, which was understandable, since he probably spent all the train ride worrying while Paul was fast asleep. "Where did he go?" 

"I don't know...I wasn't watching," John said, sounding half panicked half irritated.

Paul just shook his head and weaved through the hallways to get to Brian's room. He turned the door handle only to find that it was locked. Terror spread up to his throat. "Brian! Brian!" he called through the white wood door. "What are you doing in there?"

Hearing no reply from inside, Paul pressed his shoulder into the door. _Oh God,_ he thought as he shoved himself into the door. He wasn't going to hesitate to break it into splinters if something bad had happened in Brian's bedroom. John came up behind him and helped him push. 

Finally, the door broke. It snapped off its hinges and crashed to the ground. Paul nearly tripped over it but got his footing at the right time. John pushed past him and surveyed the room. Brian wasn't anywhere to be found. _Had we pushed the door down for nothing?_ Paul thought. But then, he heard a vague rustling on the other side of the bed. Brian was here…

John rounded the corner of the well-made bed and stared down at Brian. Pills were scattered across the floor and Brian was crouched over them, the bottle in his shaking hand. "What the hell are you _doing_?!" Paul said, eyes growing wide. 

Brian stared up at them like they'd just told him the house was burning down. After a moment of silence his gaze dropped. "I...I can't do this anymore," he murmured. "It's all too much."

John looked especially impacted by that statement, but all he did was stare at Brian and pity and shock. "I-I know," he said, gently taking the bottle from Brian's hand. It was a sort of...tenderness Paul had never seen coming from him. "It...it might seem like that now, but...it does get better. I promise it does. It isn't _worth_ it to die. Not now." 

Brian stood up shakily, with a bit of help from Paul, to sit on the bed. His eyes were shut tight and he was shaking his head. "It doesn't matter." His voice was barely audible. "Nobody will care."

"Would we have come how to see you if we didn't care?" Paul said, tilting his head. He hated to see Brian like this. Normally, he would be so put together and well-adjusted, but now he looked like he was tearing at the seams. 

Brian just sighed. "I...I guess not, I--"

"Exactly," John said almost immediately. "There are plenty of people who still need you. Like us…"

"You don't need me anymore. You were helpless little kids at first, but...now it seems you're all grown up." Brian answered. 

Paul didn't really _expect_ it, but it sort of felt like he'd been punched in the gut by those words. He couldn't _believe_ Brian really felt that way. It was true in some ways, sure, but it made Paul hurt and angry to see one of his best friends have that mindset. They still needed him...they still _loved_ him _…_

He suddenly grabbed Brian in a hug, tight and reassuring. No words were exchanged as John joined the embrace. Paul could hear Brian take in a watery sniff and begin to cry into Paul's shoulder. "That's alright," he murmured. "Let it all out…" 

Paul felt Brian's arms around him as his sobs got stronger. And Paul knew he would never let go. 


	11. Somebody to Lean On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two down, one to go.

John agreed to stay with Brian during the night, sitting in one of the armchairs in his bedroom. Paul retired to the couch for the night, begging for sleep as he covered himself with the itchy, ragged blanket hanging over the cushions. He was exhausted, and could finally get a good rest tonight.

As he closed his eyes, ready to retire for the night, he wondered what Ringo was doing. He hoped everything was going alright in Bangor, and nobody was too worried about where he and John were. Paul’s jaws parted in a large yawn and he stopped thinking, drifting off to sleep.

He slept long and hard, but his dream wasn’t pleasant at all. He was standing in an alleyway, and the sky was a pale, splotched gray. It looked like it was about to rain. In front of him was a younger version of himself, glancing worriedly around like somebody was about to attack him. Then he looked up at Paul and froze.

The two of them just stared at each other for a moment. Paul could hear the vague sounds of a train coming through, even though tracks were nowhere around. But for some odd reason, he couldn’t tell his younger self to move out of the way. He wanted to, badly, but nothing was happening. The train whistle gave a raw shriek, so close to Paul that he flinched and fell back. But when he got back up again, the train crashed into his younger self and killed him.

And that was when Paul woke up.

✦✦✦✦

He sat up with a gasp, his chest heaving as he looked around. Sunlight was streaming through the windows in Brian’s living room, and his undershirt was wet with sweat. He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. It was only a dream, but he couldn’t get the image of his younger self dying out of his head.

Paul blinked a few times and glanced up. He spotted John in the kitchen, making eggs while Brian sipped some coffee at the table. He slid off the couch and stretched with another yawn, ambling over to the kitchen table.

Brian stared at him, looking a bit concerned, ironically. “Are you okay?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“You looked like you were having a nightmare.” Brian’s voice was very soft.

“I was,” Paul said with a sigh, shaking his head. “Anyway, how are you doing?”

Brian shrugged, not saying anything as his gaze traveled back to the kitchen window. It was a nice day outside. _A day Brian might have missed if we hadn’t been here…_

“Alright, the eggs are done now,” John said from the stove. He slid them onto a plate and set it in the center of the table, sitting down beside Brian. “Don’t know if they’re going to be any good, but...I tried, I suppose.”

Paul watched Brian take two, looking more concentrated on his breakfast than anything else. He didn’t really know what to say now, it would just be awkward to remind everyone of last night. But they _needed_ to talk about it. He glanced up at John, who was giving him the same look of: _what do we say?_

Paul decided to just go for it. They needed to start somewhere. “So, Brian...we－”

“I know what you want to talk about,” Brain cut him off, still not making eye contact. “But I just want to say this. Last night I had a lot of time to think, okay? And I’m not going to try and...you know...again.” He stared down at the table as his eyebrows went up. “Like John said, it’s not worth it.”

Paul couldn’t help but be relieved. “That’s...really good, Bri…” he said with a reassuring smile.

“Yes, it’s good, but not quite enough,” John said. “We have to know you’re not lying. We have to know you’ll be fine when we’re not around.”

Brian finally glanced up at him. “I’m not lying,” he said. “I promise I’m not. Hell, I’m _scared_ of those pills now. I don’t even want to look at them.”

“But they help you sleep, don’t they?” Paul asked tentatively. 

“Yes,” Brian nodded with a sigh. “But I’m going to try and see if I can fall asleep without them. I did last night, so who’s to say I won’t tonight? There was a trace of a smile on his face. “Might just drink some warm milk and see what happens, hm?”

Paul couldn’t help but laugh a little. He was glad to see Brian at least making jokes. He was coming around a bit more every moment. “We’re not going back to Bangor,” John said after a minute. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“We’re not?” Paul tilted his head. He guessed it _really_ wouldn’t hurt the timeline, because Ringo said they had gone home after Brian died anyway. “Okay.”

“I know you’re going to hate it, but we’re going to check up on you every day for the next few weeks,” John added.

Brian looked a little irritated at that, but he just nodded. “Sure. I guess it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he sighed.

“Yes, it does,” Paul said, brushing himself off. “I think it’s a marvelous idea.”

✦✦✦✦

They left around noon, John being very reluctant to step two feet away from Brian. It took a lot of convincing for him to see that Brian would be okay on his own. 

But before they left, Paul called Ringo.

“Did you do it?” Ringo asked right when he answered.

“Yes, yes, I did,” Paul said with a smile. “It was a bit harder than I thought it was going to be, though.” He decided not to mention they went back twice.

“Well, it was like that with John as well,” Ringo answered with a laugh. “Oh, god, that’s so good, though. Maybe the band might last a little longer now.”

“Hopefully it will,” Paul said. “Brian already seems happier. But John and I aren’t going back to Bangor.”

“Yeah, we’re going home today too. We’re right about to get on the train.” Ringo answered. “George’s a bit heated at you two for up and leaving with no warning, but when I told him what happened, he eased up a bit.”

“That’s good,” Paul said. “Well, I suppose we should meet at Wimpole when you get back, right?”

“Yeah,” Ringo replied. “See you there.”

“Bye.”

Paul sighed and pressed his hands onto the phone as he put it back on its base. He was relieved Ringo was coming home today, so he wouldn’t have to wait for him, and they only had one person left to save before they were all good. But he didn’t quite know how they were going to stop George from smoking. It was the main cause of his death, after all. Maybe Ringo could help him think of something. 

As he and John were driving away from Brian’s house, John turned to look at him. “So...what are you gonna do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well...you’re not just going to _stay_ back in 1968, are you?” said John. “That would be weird.”

“Oh, no, of _course_ not,” Paul shook his head. “If I stayed here, I’d be drawing a complete blank on 4 years of my life. I’m not going to do that.”

“So what are you going to do, then?”

“Stopping George from dying, and then I’ll go back to 1964,” answered Paul. “I can’t wait to be back there, even if I’ve seen so much lately.”

John opened his mouth like he was about to ask something, but then closed it. He hesitated for a moment and decided to give it another shot. “How... _does_ George die?”

Paul didn’t know if he should answer that or not. Was there a downside to John knowing? It wasn’t like it would make any difference if John knew or not. “Alright, I’ll tell you,” he sighed. “But you have to promise not to try and mess with George about it at _all_ , alright?”

John nodded. “‘Kay.”

“He dies because of lung cancer,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “Because he smoked too many cigarettes. He couldn’t handle it.”

John stared at Paul for a moment, and faltered a bit. “Oh.” he said. “So...you _can_ die from that.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. After that, it was a bit uncomfortable on the way back to Wimpole. But finally, the cab pulled up beside that familiar street and John and Paul piled out. 

The two of them sat on the curb, waiting for Ringo to arrive. John didn’t say much, which was unusual for him, just watched the clouds drift by. Part of Paul sort of wished he could stay here, but it wouldn’t work out. He had to help George. 

And besides, he needed to go back to 1964 too. There was still things to do there. He hadn’t seen Jane in what felt like a million years, even though it was only a week. He couldn’t wait to see her face again.

Soon, another taxi pulled up beside them, and Ringo stepped out. “Hey, Paul,” he said with a grin, and then nodded to John. “Hey.”

John gave him a lopsided smile. “Hello, Ritch. I suppose you should be getting off now,” he said as he stood up. “It’s going to be strange.”

“This whole _thing_ has been strange,” Paul said with a sigh.

“True,” John replied. But he put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Good luck with Geo. I...I guess I’ll see you back in ‘64, huh?”

“Yeah,” Paul laughed. “But...it won’t be the same you.”

“But it’ll still be _me_ ,” John said. “Don’t worry about it. Just do whatever you can to help George. I don’t want our little brother to die.”

“Me either,” Ringo said. “But I don’t know how we’re going to stop George from smoking.”

“It’s pretty easy,” John answered. “Just stop him from ever smoking a cigarette in the first place. If he never smokes, he never dies. Simple.”

“He’s right.” Ringo nodded slowly. “But how do we know when he smoked his first cigarette?”

Paul began to wrack through his memory. He tried to think of when George started smoking. He vaguely remembered George pulling out a pack of them one day when he was fifteen, asking Paul if he wanted one. Paul had said no and asked where he’d gotten them. George said that some kid have given them to him and he was going to _try one_ －

“I was there with him!” Paul said suddenly as John and Ringo looked over at him. “I was fifteen, and we were in some alleyway or something!”

“Really?” Ringo said. “Okay, well. That’s helpful.”

“So what year was it?” John asked.

“‘57,” Paul rattled off. “The year we met.”

John’s eyes flashed with a sort of fondness, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Wow, you were only fifteen?”

Paul sighed. “Yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Well, you weren’t too much older yourself.”

“I was _seventeen_ －”

“We don’t need to argue about this!” Ringo interrupted. “Okay. We’re going back to 1957 Liverpool, right?”

“Yep,” Paul nodded. He glanced back at John, who was looking after them wistfully. “See you, Johnny,” he said with a smile. 

“G’bye, Macca,” answered John. 

“How long do you think clouds last?” Paul could hear Ringo muttering to himself, and he took the drummer’s hand with a deep breath. They only had one person left to go, then this whole thing would be over.

“D’you think...11 lightyears?” Paul countered. With one last look back at John, he and Ringo stepped forward. With the familiar feeling of tripping, Paul prayed this wouldn’t take long as he tumbled down to the ground.


	12. The Cherry on Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's going to make it a lot harder...

Paul lifted his head from the cold hard ground in front of Wimpole. It was very cloudy and frankly freezing now. Paul wished he’d thought to bring a sweater or something.

He sat up on the curb. London sure looked different from 1968, but he was used to his surroundings changing at a whim. He could already feel his face flush with the cold winter of 1957.

Paul suddenly remembered Ringo and whirled around. He was still out cold on the ground, looking a lot different with his slight stubble and pompadour. “Ritch,” he muttered, crouching down to shake him before somebody pulled by and saw what was happening. “Ritch, get  _ up _ .” 

Ringo’s blue eyes flitted open, and he drawled, “Did we make it?”

“Yes, we made it,” Paul hissed. “What do you think we were doing on the sidewalk?”

Ringo sat up slowly, rubbing his head in irritation. His eyes were shut tight, and Paul figured he must have hit himself extra hard on the way down. “Alright, Macca, you don’t have to get so  _ frustrated _ －” 

“Well, I am,” Paul replied, unnecessarily snappishly. “I just want to get this over with. I’m tired and I want to go home.”

Ringo sighed as he stood up, shaking himself off. “Oh, yeah.  _ Your _ home is in 1964, innit?”

“Yes,” Paul answered. “Right here, actually. But I’m sure somebody else lives here now.” He looked up at the striped curtains and dark rooms behind them. “They’re probably wondering why two random guys just showed up on their sidewalk.”

“Yeah. Probably,” Ringo laughed. “Anyways, we need to get to Liverpool, right?”

Paul practically sagged in defeat. He’d forgotten they were in  _ London… _ “Yeah,” he muttered, pushing his hair back. He wished they could just fly. Going by plane in the future was so much  _ faster, _ but hey. At least he didn’t have to learn anything about 1957. He’d already been here before, a familiar feeling he had missed too much already.

✦✦✦✦

They finally got to Liverpool a whopping three hours later. They went by train, but they had to be creepy and check the date on the newspaper of the man in front of them, who was understandably confused and a little weirded out.

“Okay.” Paul sighed as they managed to get back into their seats. “It’s Sunday. So that means George probably tries his first cigarette tomorrow, since it’s a school day.”

“Right,” Ringo answered. He turned to look at Paul. “Do you think it’d be weird? Y’know, since Geo hasn’t met me yet.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Paul shrugged. “But I can just say you’re my...old friend.”

“D’you think it would screw with the timeline, or whatever?”

Paul leaned back. “I hadn’t thought of it.”

It was around 5:00 pm when they arrived in Liverpool. It was already dark, since the clouds covered up any hint of moon or starlight. So Paul and Ringo, two pretty young people, were alone that evening. Paul couldn’t help feeling a little bit anxious that somebody would attack them or something, but he knew it was irrational. He was an adult man now, he could deal with that. 

But then he remembered. He was in his fifteen year old body. 

_ Crap. _

But all of Paul’s worry slipped away when they began walking around. It was replaced with an overload of nostalgia, really. All the old stores and restaurants he used to love were back, and he even saw the old NEMS store Brian used to work at. He got a bit closer and peeked inside. Near the back, he could see a tall, younger-looking man restocking the records.  _ Brian, _ he thought with a smile.

“Do you think we could go back to my house?” Paul said as they passed the NEMS store. “Y’know, just to see Jim or Mike.”

Ringo shrugged. “I guess so,” he said, but then stopped short. “Wait. Do you think...we’re supposed to  _ be _ at our houses? Like...now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Shit,” Ringo was saying. “Okay. Do you know how when you got blasted to 2019, you were married to Nancy and all that?”

“Yeah,” Paul nodded. A sense of dread was filling him up, and he was already starting to get what Ringo was explaining.

“What if...what if  _ we’re _ supposed to be ourselves right now?”

Paul hissed. “Oh, god…” he groaned. “Oh...okay. You go to your house to see what’s up and I’ll go to mine. And if there are...somehow, doubles of us, we’ll meet here. Okay?”

“Alright,” Ringo agreed. He whirled around and began running back to his old house. Paul took a minute to remember where it was, but after a moment, he was sprinting down the streets. His fifteen-year-old body was a lot more agile than all the others he had experienced previously.

Finally, Paul skidded down Forthlin Road, out of breath and exhausted. He nearly fell into his front yard, his hands pressing into the wet, familiar grass he was used to. He sighed, chest heaving, having trouble lifting his head as he leaned into the birdbath.

Paul turned a little bit to look into the front window. The kitchen window was alight, and they were probably beginning to have dinner. Paul could even see his father Jim by the kitchen counter, and a few bolts of panic spread through him when Jim’s head turned toward the window to look at him.

Paul yelped and slid off the birdbath and into the grass. Thankfully, the bushes shielded him from Jim’s gaze. He was still trying to catch his breath, and his mind was racing to see what he was going to do when he got back up. 

Paul turned onto his stomach, deciding to crawl to the other window and see what was going on inside. He squeezed between the house and the fence to get to the kitchen window on the other side. Slowly, he lifted his head to look inside. 

Mike was sitting at the table, and Jim, and they were getting ready for dinner. And Mike was joking with someone on the other side of the table. 

Paul’s heart skipped a beat as he saw  _ himself _ in the third seat. 

So there  _ was  _ two of him!

Suddenly, the fence shook a little bit, and Paul’s face nearly smacked the window. Thankfully, his hands caught him, but it surely made a loud noise as he dropped back down to the ground again. 

This was...bad. Very bad. 

“Da’, I think there was someone in the window…” Paul heard Mike’s nervous voice from across the glass. No matter how tired and worried he was, Paul began crawling through the mud to get away from the window as fast as he could. 

He finally sheltered behind the house and peeked out around the corner. Jim had opened the window and was looking around, looking very irritated. “Who’s there?” he barked gruffly. “Is anyone out there?”

Paul watched him, eyes wide. He held his breath.

After a minute or two, Jim snapped the window shut. “I think it was just the wind or something,” he said. Paul sighed in relief, shutting his eyes. Thank goodness. 

He sat there for a moment, dripping in sweat, covered in dirt and leaves, and terrified. Paul was completely overwhelmed and he felt disgusting. And added onto that, he had to meet back with Ringo.

He leaned his head against the brick wall of his house, closing his eyes. Maybe if he just let himself _ breathe for a minute… _

But only for a minute.

_ You know, da’ is probably going to come out and find you soon, _ he thought. Narrowing his eyes, he groaned and forced himself to stand up. He was so tired. He wished he could just crawl up into his bed and die.

But he managed to begin wandering back to he and Ringo’s meeting spot. Paul hoped helping George tomorrow would go smoothly, unlike the past two times. He saw Ringo in the orange glare of a streetlight, sad eyes watching the ground.

“So,” Paul began as he stood next to him, “I guess we both figured it out.”

“Yeah,” Ringo shrugged. 

“But it won’t be as big of an issue for you,” Paul sighed. “George already knows me when he tries his first cigarette. Hell, I was  _ there. _ How am I going to avoid that?”

“I don’t know,” Ringo said. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we need to find a place to sleep for the night.”

“We can’t get a hotel room.” Paul told him with a sigh. “We don’t have any money.”

Ringo closed his eyes in exasperation. “Right.”

“That means we have to sleep...out here.”

“Out  _ here?  _ But it’s freezing!” Ringo said with a groan. “We’ll get frostbite...and then  _ we’ll _ die before George does!”

“Okay, okay,” Paul held up his hands. “But what do  _ you  _ suppose we do?”

So they ended up at the homeless shelter.

It was in pretty bad shape. There were older men and women looking at them strangely from around the cots and there were questionable stains everywhere. Just to keep each other safe, Paul and Ringo huddled together on one cot, preserving body heat and hoping they wouldn’t have to spend much time in here.

Paul didn’t sleep very well that night. He was alert for anybody that tried to mess with them, and his mind was also racing. How was he going to avoid seeing  _ himself _ tomorrow, when they tried to help George? He just had to find a way to get there before his younger self (who he had decided to call James, for simplicity reasons) and George tried the cigarettes and after George got them in the first place.

And with that plan in his head, he finally drifted off into a worried but deep sleep.


	13. You Thought So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It...works??? Kind of???

The next morning, Paul was up first. Right as he opened his eyes, he scrambled over to the clock on the wall. It was 7:00, and they had thirty minutes till George would arrive at school, presumably. 

Paul sighed, creeping around other people’s cots and blankets to get back to Ringo’s. They might have time for breakfast before they headed off, but Paul wasn’t even sure he wanted any. He quietly laid back down beside his friend and stared at the dark brick wall.

He didn’t know why, but this attempt was so much more stressful that John and Brian’s. Maybe it was because he had to get around James? Probably. But Paul wished he could tell James a couple things about life that would help him. 

“Paul? You up?”

He turned around to see Ringo’s face. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ringo sat up and brushed himself off. His shirt was rumpled to no end and his hair looked like a rat’s nest, and he promptly smoothed it down. “We don’t have long before...you know.”

“Trust me, I know,” Paul whispered in reply. “I hardly got any sleep last night thinking about it.”

“Well, we don’t really have time to be tired,” said Ringo as he stood up from the cot. “We have to get going now.”

“Now?” Paul tilted his head.

“Yes,” Ringo nodded, pulling on his shoes. “You never know what could happen on the way there. We always want to be prepared, right?”

“I guess so,” Paul shrugged. He was a bit hungry, though. Oh well...maybe they could stop for something afterwards? It was funny how nonchalant he was about saving one of his best friends from death now. It was his third (fourth? Counting Brian’s second try?) time doing it, so no wonder.

He and Ringo sneaked out the back door, trying to shut it behind them as quietly as possible. Immediately, the cold wind blew into Paul’s face, but he tried to ignore it. Ringo turned to him as they began hurrying down the road. “You’re younger than me,” he said with a nod in Paul’s direction. “You should remember where your school is.”

Paul sighed. It was really a fuzzy memory to him, but he led Ringo along what he thought was the right way. When he spotted a few girls in the old uniform, he just followed them. And when they finally got to the school grounds, it was 7:25. They had exactly five minutes to convince George not to throw his life away at the cost of some silly brown stick.

“I know where he is,” Paul said to Ringo when they got to the front gate. There was a road snaking right beside them, and Paul could feel the rush of air as cars passed by. “You just...stay here for a minute.”

Ringo’s eyes flashed. “But I want to  _ help _ .”

“I know you do,” Paul said, holding up his hands to try and steady him. “But you’ll look weird here. You’re almost a full-grown man.”

“I’m  _ seventeen _ ,” Ringo answered. Paul could tell Ringo knew it sounded weird. But he didn’t falter.

“Still.” Paul said. “I won’t be long.”

Ringo sighed, putting his hands in his pockets and staring out onto the street as Paul entered through the gates. He remembered doing this every single day, dreading every class as the hours passed slowly. But now he was anxious to get in as quick as possible.

“Hey, McCartney!”

As Paul was walking down a path (that he wasn’t entirely sure was right), he heard someone call his name. He jumped for a second and whirled around. He noticed one of his old classmates, Hugh. “Oh, h-hey!” Paul waved, feeling a little bit awkward. He hadn’t seen Hugh in almost ten years. 

“Where are you goin’?” the broad-faced boy was coming closer to Paul, who was getting more anxious with every moment. 

“Oh, just…” Paul shrugged as he trailed off. “Um. To meet Hassa by the back wall, y’know.”

One of Hugh’s eyebrows raised and he smiled. “For what?”

“Nothin’,” Paul said.  _ What does he mean by that? _

Hugh just laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said, turning back around as he waved. “See you at lunch.”

“Bye!” Paul replied, and then immediately turned around and began running back. He hoped nobody else would see him and－god forbid－want to talk.

He finally got to a little crevice by the back of the school. Almost nobody was around, and Paul knew George was here. He could even see the younger boy’s shadow across the red brick wall. “Hassa,” he said as he squeezed through the fissure. 

“Hey,” George nodded. He was sitting against the wall, and Paul felt a little sick as he saw the newly-opened pack of cigarettes by his shoes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much,” Paul replied. He sat down beside George, back sliding down the wall. Somehow, he didn’t even feel nervous. Talking to George at always felt natural, even if he was secretly nine years older. “Whas’ going on with  _ you _ ?”

A grin spread across George’s face as he grabbed the cigarettes. “I got these,” he said, lowering his voice like there was somebody around. He popped open the top to reveal perfectly unsmoked cigarettes.

Paul’s eyebrows went up as he feigned surprise. “You did?” he said.  _ Here we go _ . “You know, those are－”

“Want one?” George pulled one out. “It’ll be our first smoke.”

Paul swallowed.  _ One more try. _ “Don’t...don’t do that,” he said stiffly. He hadn’t really planned out how to do this, and he was realizing that now. “They’re actually really, really bad for you. They can kill you, ya know.”

George scoffed with a smile. “Since when do you care? C’mon, you’ve wanted to do this forever!” he said as he put the red-and-white box in Paul’s hand. Paul immediately put it down on the wet, cold ground again. 

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he said, more firmly this time. George looked a bit intimidated by the blaze in Paul’s eyes. “Don’t even try it. Please, just...don’t smoke that cigarette.”

George was frozen for a second, before he slowly put the brown stick down. “Okay,  _ okay _ ,” he said, drawing his head forward and shaking it. “I didn’t know you were so... _ passionate _ about this, Macca.”

Paul nodded. “I am. And I  _ swear _ , if you try to smoke that when I’m not around, I’m going to kill you.” _ Before you kill yourself,  _ he thought silently.

George looked uneasy now. “Alright,” he said. He was looking at Paul like he had suddenly gone insane. “I won’t. Weirdo.”

Paul had to stifle a sigh of relief.  _ Thank god. That went… smoothly. Sort of. _ He ran his hand through his hair, which was a lot...greasier than he remembered it being. “I guess I’ll just throw this away,” George mumbled as he put the box in his back pocket. “So did you do the homework last night－”

“What the  _ hell _ ?!”

Paul’s head snapped up, and his heart sunk.

He was staring right up at himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned next time for...well, you'll see. :) 🍋


	14. All That Glitters Is Not Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So everything was going right for about half a second

Paul...didn’t really know what to do now.

He was face-to-face to James, who looked wildly confused and frankly _irritated_ , and George, who was probably bewildered out of his mind. There was about half a moment of silence before James spoke again.

“Who－who _are_ you?!” he demanded. “And why do you look… _exactly like me?_ ”

George looked over at Paul, who was still trying to figure out what he was going to do about this whole thing. “That’s not you, is it?” he said, looking up at James. “Who are _you_?”

Paul sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to find a way out of this. He would have to tell them he was a time traveler. He didn’t _want_ to, but he stood up anyway. “Okay, both of you _just listen_.” he said with a sigh. 

“No,” James shook his head and grabbed George’s arm, pulling him up as well. The both of them looked so confused and terrified it almost made Paul want to laugh. “C’mon, Hassa...th-this isn’t safe. Let’s get out of here!”

“Wait!” Paul called as they both took off. Panic socked Paul in the gut. _He had to make sure George threw those cigarettes away._ He bolted on after them. “Wait, I can explain!”

But neither George nor James even turned around to give him a chance. Paul had his eye on the prize: the box of cigarettes. If he could just get them, he’d throw them away and he wouldn’t be chasing them. They sprinted right back up the path, nearly knocking into Hugh. “Wait!” Paul called as James and George ran past the gate. He was almost close enough to grab the box…

Ringo was coming up into view as they got closer to the road. “Ritch!” Paul cried over to him. “Get the cigarettes!”

Ringo took a minute to try and figure out what was going on, but he skidded across the road and tried to grab the box out of George’s back pocket. But the boy turned around and shoved Ringo back onto the sidewalk, subsequently pushing Paul out into the road.

His head was spinning like a top, but he tried to get it to stay still for one moment. A car was coming right toward him at full speed, and he was sitting in its path, unable to get up in time. Adrenalin kicked into James a little too late and one pivotal thing happened in the next five seconds.

It was like a movie. James’s eyes lit up like a lamp and he pushed George out of the way, running across the black tar, school tie flapping in the wind. The driver of the car picked up speed as the green light turned yellow. And right as the bumper was about to smack Paul in the face, James grabbed onto him, shoved him out of the way, and got hit by the car instead with a terrific _crack._

Paul tumbled back onto the sidewalk, gray stuff all over his hands and his shirt. Everything hurt, but he didn’t really have time to think about that. He lifted his pounding head as the car pulled over to the sidewalk, nearly hitting Ringo and George, who jumped out of the way just in time.

Paul scrambled to his feet and ran over to James. The poor kid was lying a few feet away from the whole scene, the little tufts of his yellow sweater blowing in the breeze. Schoolkids and adults were crowding around, murmuring and gasping. Paul, George, and Ringo immediately ran over to James, who hadn’t moved.

“Macca?” George was saying, feverishly shaking his friend. “Paul, are you okay?”

“No, he’s obviously not,” barked Ringo. He seemed just as distressed. Paul felt a little bit sick as he saw dark blood seeping out from underneath James.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” he called, not really in anyone’s particular direction. He vaguely saw a few girls run off as teachers from the school came marching toward them. “Oh, god…”

“Don’t die,” George was murmuring. “Just _please_ don’t die!”

Paul couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He was trying to figure out 

  1. How to help his younger self not die
  2. What this would mean in the grand scheme of time 
  3. Why an _ambulance wasn’t here yet!_



“Let’s get him off the road,” one of the teachers who Paul hardly recognized was saying as he came over. The gray-haired man helped Ringo and Paul pull James off the ground. Paul was trying not to look at all the blood, but it had already done his damage. He was already feeling nauseous.

They got James to the sidewalk and turned him over. There was a massive red spot all across his front side and a few cuts on his face, but he was still unconscious, probably in some weird sort of fever dream and blissfully unaware that he could be dying. He heard a few kids yell in shock, and even one cry out about a broken leg.

Paul didn’t look down there, suffice to say.

Ringo immediately took his jacket off to try and stop the bleeding, but it really wasn’t doing much. It didn’t take long before the entire thing was covered in red, so Paul offered the red button-down he’d been wearing when he landed here, leaving him with only an undershirt. Needless to say that he was awfully cold, but he was so terrified and full of nervous warmth that it didn’t really bother him. Neither did the previous pain he’d felt when he tore across the road.

It felt like a million years before an ambulance came, wailing and flashing. The back doors opened before they even stopped and Paul helped pick up James again. The paramedics were thankfully there to take him, and they slammed him in the back of the truck with George before they were off.

At first everybody just stood there, not really knowing what to do. Everyone who had watched the whole thing was sort of relieved but worried at the same time, including Paul. 

“Alright, everybody inside,” the same teacher called. “Everyone _inside_ …” As the reluctant students filed inside the building, Paul rubbed his head a little bit, still feeling sick.

Ringo turned his blue gaze up. “Do you know what this means?”

Paul sighed. “It means a lot of things, Ritch.”

“Yeah, but most importantly,” Ringo grabbed him by the arms. “If James dies in that hospital, he’ll never become a Beatle. And if he never becomes a Beatle, _you_ won’t exist.”

Paul’s eyes slowly widened. So that meant...if James _died_ , Paul would...cease to live too.

And then his legs gave out. The last thing he saw before it faded to black was the smushed, battered, destroyed box of cigarettes under the car’s tire.

✦✦✦✦

He woke up a while later, vision blurry and head still aching. His eyelids fluttered a bit before he reached up to rub them. Paul felt very uncomfortable at the moment, but at least it was quiet. 

He lifted his head up. Everything around him was white, whiter than snow and paper and shells. And when he looked down, he was only sitting on white too, no floor or anything.

Was he dead?

Paul slowly stood up, reeling for a moment. Every time he looked down to see no floors, it made him a little uneasy. He looked around, but he couldn’t really see anything else except…

There was somebody there, in the distance. Their figure was very small, but they were standing there. And it was very close to a gathering darkness, so black it was like a starless night. Paul hurried over, glad to have at least _somebody_ else to talk to in this abyss of nothingness.

He got closer (but not too close to that darkness) to realize it was him. But a different version of him. This one looked...sicker. More dazed. Almost...sort of dead. His eyes were glassy and he had an emotionless face. “Hello?” Paul said, waving his hand in front of the other him’s face. “Hello? Are you alright?”

The other him blinked a few times and then rubbed his milky eyes. “Wh-what?” he murmured. His voice was incredibly soft. “What’s going on?”

Then everything came back to Paul. This was James. And he was dying...he’d saved him from the car crash. They must be in some sort of...shared dream world. “You’re...Paul, right?” Paul said as he stared at James in wonder.

“Yeah, but...so are you,” James answered. “Were you the one from earlier? The one I saved before everything went dark?”

“Yes, _yes_ .” Paul nodded, hoping he could explain everything. He wanted to explain everything, but he really _needed_ to tell James one thing. “Listen, you’ve－you’ve got to hold on for me, okay? Don’t die, whatever you do.” It sounded really, really strange, but it made sense in the moment. “Just please hold on.”

A little whimper escaped James. “But it’s hard,” he said, looking toward the blackness nearly surrounding them. Paul realized it must be...sort of symbolic for death. And both James and him were close to it. “It would just be easier to let go.”

“But you _can’t_ ,” Paul said, his voice suddenly full of emotion. “Do you know what sort of future lies ahead of you?” He sighed. “I’m you...from the future. I know what happens.”

James blinked a few times, still dazed. “You are?” he said, and then paused. “What’s...going to happen to me?”

“You’re…” Paul trailed off. He wondered if he should tell James all the great things that might happen, but he couldn’t. It would be too risky. So he could just...paraphrase. “You’re going to get super famous. And great, and you’re going to be remembered for a long time. You’re going to get all the girls and the fame and you’re going to play _music_.” As he was saying these things, it slowly came back to him how much he appreciated and missed everything he had before all of this happened. “You’re going to make so many good friends that will last all of your life. But if you let go…” He stepped forward, running a hand through James’s hair. “If you let go, all of that, and me...will go away.”

James stood there, staring out past Paul for what felt like ages. Then he narrowed his eyes a little bit and took a step away from the blackness. It was short, but it was there. “Okay,” he said, with a hint of more resolve. “I’ll...I’ll try.”

A beam spread across Paul’s face, and then everything slipped away again.


	15. We Were Worlds Apart

Paul blinked his eyes open again, coming back from the sort of dream realm he’d just been in. Everything was so bright and uncomfortable, and it felt like his head was on somebody’s lap? He groaned a little bit as his vision cleared.

He was in that homeless shelter again! But this time there was hardly anyone inside. Paul didn’t really think about his surroundings much before a strong wave of dizziness and nausea hit him again. Ugh.

“Macca? Are you awake?”

Paul nodded, blinking a few more times. He didn’t feel well enough to talk, which was pretty bad. He looked up to see Ringo’s head over his. “Oh, thank god. I thought you might have died.”

Paul shook his head with groan, and Ringo’s expression became worried. “Are you feeling okay?”

Another head shake.

Ringo winced. “I knew this was going to be bad. James must be really dying, then,” he said, voice dreadfully anxious. “I’ll...I’ll get the nurse. Just stay put.”

As his friend gently lowered Paul’s head down onto the cot they were on, he finally got a bit of energy to talk. “I...I saw him,” he said. He nearly winced at how weak he sounded.

Ringo turned around. “What do you mean?”

It took Paul a moment to answer. “While I was out,” he said. “He’s…trying.”

“Trying to stay alive?” Ringo said.

Paul just nodded.

“I was going to see how he was doing later,” Ringo sighed. “But I didn’t know if he was alive or not. I guess maybe I can try then?”

Paul nodded again as Ringo went off to find a nurse. He really hated this, but he had an idea of why he was feeling so bad. It was because James was on the verge of dying. He wished he had encouraged his younger self to hold on a bit more, but he hadn’t known about how sick he would be in that dream.

Paul then contemplated if he should just try and go back to sleep. It would beat lying here literally on the verge of death and wallowing in his own misery. His eyes were already closed anyway, so that was a good first step. And hey, maybe he would see James in his dream. Possibly.

But right as he was about to drift off again, he felt a freezing rag on his forehead that stunned him. “That should be good,” he heard a female voice ring piercingly through his ears. “Looks like he’s just got a fever.”

“Can’t you do anything else but slap a washcloth on his face?” Ringo asked desperately.

“Sorry, but we don’t have the best funding here,” was the nurse’s flimsy response. “Call me if something any worse happens.”

Ringo still seemed distressed, but he didn’t answer her as the nurse strutted away. Paul sighed as the coolness of the rag seeped into his head. It felt at least a bit better, but he knew it wasn’t going to help in the grand scheme of things.

Please, James. Just hold on.

Thankfully, nothing worse happened. Paul tried to go back to sleep, but it was too bright and too loud for him to catch even a wink. At around three, Ringo decided he was going to go visit James.

Paul didn’t really want him to go. He felt really uncomfortable here, especially alone and pretty much defenseless. But the one thing he wanted more than Ringo to stay was news on James. So he had to grit his teeth and bear it, waiting for Ringo to come back.

Around then he was starting to feel a bit worse, his hands were getting shaky and beads of sweat were running down his practically steaming hot face. He hated this. Now he wanted nothing more than to go into a dream and beg James to just stay alive. 

It took a very, very long time for Ringo to return. More people had been filling up the shelter, their talking unnecessarily loud. They were staring at Paul like he had four heads, but some of them looked more concerned. The nurse didn’t come back, though.

When Ringo came back in, he immediately sat beside Paul, but not on the cot as to give him some space. Paul had been shivering all of the sudden, hot but cold at the same time, so he knew the prognosis couldn’t be good.

Ringo sighed, resting his head on his hands. “James is alive,” he said. “But he’s not doing good. The...doctors don’t have high hopes.”

Paul winced with a simple shake of his head. That was awful. 

Ringo sighed once more and put his hand on Paul’s head. “You’re burning up, but I guess I couldn’t expect anything else,” he said. “Try to go back to sleep. Maybe you’ll see James again?”

Paul nodded and closed his eyes, turning his face towards the cot. He hoped he could get a little bit of darkness to fall asleep. And after a few hard moments he finally slipped away into a dream.

✦✦✦✦

He opened his eyes to see just white again. Relief flowed through him for a moment: he was going to see James. As he lifted his head, he realized none of his illness from before was here. He would have to savor this before he woke up. He sat up and was immediately met with penetrating darkness.

Well no wonder. James and Paul were both extremely close to death. So James must be by here somewhere. Paul looked around for about half a second before he saw him. James was sitting, knees hugged up against his chest, dangerously close to death, eyes half-closed.

“What are you doing?” Paul scrambled to his feet and went over to his younger self. 

“It’s warm over here,” was James’s simple reply.

“Get away from there,” Paul said. He wondered if he could physically pull James away from the dark, so he leaned forward to grab his arm. Thankfully, Paul caught on. “Come on. Let’s come closer to the light, alright?”

James looked a bit frustrated, like a toddler being pulled away from a playground. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m staying over here. It’s so cold towards the white.”  
“But it’s better there,” Paul said, trying to pull James up. “Remember what I told you? About what’s going to happen?”

James nodded as he took a few steps forward, but they looked very forced. It was like there was a wall he was pushing against. “I can’t go any farther.” he said pitifully.

“You can’t?” Paul said, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” James replied. “I just can’t.”

Paul took a moment to think about this. Well, it made sense. Fighting for life wasn’t just James’s choice, it was a matter of practicality too. James had been hit very hard by that car, and if his injury got infected or he lost too much blood, that was a reason to die. It wasn’t just that James didn’t want to.

“Try a few more steps,” Paul said, trying to be helpful.

James sighed and took about two more before he stopped. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “That’s all I can go.”

Paul glanced back toward the dark. They weren’t even that far. This was going to be a big issue if they wanted to help James stay alive. 

Just then, a massive sort of...gust of wind blew into Paul’s face, almost strong enough to knock him over. He looked over at James to make sure he hadn’t stumbled back at all, but he was now crouched down (thankfully in the same spot), grimacing as he held his lower abdomen. 

“What happened?” Paul stepped over to him. “Are you alright?”

James shook his head. “Something’s going on,” he said slowly. “Not here, but...out there.”

“What do you think it is?”

James barely shrugged. 

Paul sighed. It would be so helpful if he could just be okay for two seconds, just enough to get to see James in the non-dream world. But he knew that if he couldn’t even stand there was a low chance of that even happening.

Paul sighed once again. He was feeling himself wake up, and leaving James. This would be his last chance to talk for a while. “Just stay alive, please,” he said, starting to get a bit panicky. “I know it’s warmer over there but just come towards the white and you’ll be okay, alright?”

James’s eyes were wide with fear. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m waking up,” Paul answered. He could barely see James anymore, only pitch black darkness. “I’ll...I’ll come back. Okay? Just try and go towards the white.”

“O-okay,” James nodded slowly, and then Paul woke up.


	16. Wish You Were Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this super short chapter! Next one will be longer. 🍋

All of the horrible aspects of death returned to Paul when he woke up. Sunlight was streaming into the windows of the shelter, warming up the empty cots scattered around him. Ringo was gone as well, probably having seen James for a while. Paul sighed, squinting to see the clock on the other wall.

11:45. It was almost noon.

He was sort of glad he’d slept for that long. His first dream hadn’t been nearly that extensive. At least James was trying now, at least he  _ knew.  _ But Paul was still stumped on what exactly was keeping him from coming farther away from death in the first place. He wanted to know what exactly had happened to James while they had both been asleep.

But how was he to figure that out?

Maybe Ringo would know when he got back. Paul sighed and forced himself to roll over. The shelter was pretty much empty again, which was good, he supposed. Less people to watch him crumble to pieces and die. Well, hopefully not die. But maybe.

Paul supposed he might have to come to terms with the fact that he could very well die soon. It was going to be very bad, and it would eliminate all the hard work he had done recently. Well, there were other things it would lead to as well...like the Beatles never existing and his children never being born. He guessed there was another reason James needed to be alive. But he couldn’t really do much now.

And he was back to square one. His thoughts sort of went in circles now, most of them being more negative than he would have liked. But it was  _ realistic _ for James to die, so it wasn’t like he could fool himself into thinking ‘all he had to do was hope’ and ‘ _ maybe _ James would stay alive’. He didn’t really have time for maybes.

Paul was about to go right back to wondering what was going on in the dream-world when a familiar frame came into his peripheral. Ringo was back, thank god, and he sat right down beside Paul’s cot like the faithful friend he was. “How is it?” he murmured.

Paul shrugged, throat too dry to even try and make words.

Ringo sat back. “I suppose you’d like to know how James is doing,” he said, and Paul nodded vigorously.  _ More than anything. _

“They had to do emergency surgery on him yesterday, because of some internal bleeding...” Ringo said. “They told me he almost didn’t make it all the way through.”

_ So that was what was keeping him from going any farther, _ Paul thought. He looked up at Ringo for more information, if he even had any to give.

“He’s not getting any better, but at least it’s not  _ worse _ .” Ringo added. He looked over at Paul. “George was there when I came. He said he was too scared to even try smoking again when I asked him.”

Paul nodded, closing his eyes.  _ Thank god. _

“Do you feel well enough to see him? Not now, of course.”

Paul had to shake his head no. He wasn’t feeling worse, but it was still pretty bad. He wanted to talk to James again, hopefully to tell him what was going on in reality. He felt Ringo’s hand on his shoulder, and it was unnaturally warm.  _ Is my almost-dying illness contagious? _ Paul thought wearily.

“Try to sleep again, maybe,” Ringo said. “If James is there…”

Paul nodded again. He tried to stay as still as possible, eyes closed and comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could be in... _ this _ situation. And to his delight, he slipped off into a dream.

But he didn’t see James this time. In fact, nothing was the same. He was standing in front of John, Brian, George, and James. They were all alive and okay, thankfully. But Paul watched as James slowly disappeared. And then along with him went George, and Brian, and then John. Paul tried to stop them from going, but they just slid through his fingers like water. Then he felt himself slipping away as well. He looked down at his hands, which were becoming sort of transparent. It looked like he was a ghost of sorts, and he was becoming completely invisible. Completely...gone.

Suddenly, he woke up to immediate darkness. He hadn’t been asleep for _ that long, _ had he? His heart was pounding in terror, and he knew what the dream had meant. James was going to die. And so was he. 

Paul turned around and started to shake Ringo. He didn’t know how he’d gotten such a burst of strength, but he didn’t have time to wonder. “Wh-what, Macca?” Ringo turned around, concerned but also a bit irritated.

Paul took a deep breath and forced himself to talk. “We have to go to the hospital.  _ Now! _ ”


	17. A Real Cliffhanger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The biggest uh oh in this entire story

They sat under the portico of the bus stop, waiting for one to come and take them. Paul was getting worse  _ now, _ he could tell. The blanket Ringo had hastily wrapped around him wasn’t doing very much good. His hands were getting all warm and he felt dizzy and nauseous. He could barely keep his eyes open by the time a bus finally pulled up.

“Hospital. Quickly.” Ringo said as he led Paul over to an empty seat. The bus was mostly empty from what he could tell, and the driver practically started speeding once they got settled. Paul squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned his eyes against the seat ahead.  _ Please just...stay alive, James. Please. _

It felt like a thousand years before they finally pulled up. Paul was on the verge of passing out at that point, but Ringo managed to stand him up and get him off the bus. “Hold on, Macca,” the drummer said. He didn’t even sound like he cared about his voice wavering. “You’re going to be okay.”

Paul took a deep breath, finding every second it was harder to breathe. He didn’t know if he was going to be okay at this point. 

Next thing he knew, there was an IV being shoved into his arm as someone was pushing a stretcher down the hallway. Paul could barely see Ringo running alongside him, grabbing onto his hand with a grip that could snap a metal rod in half. “Keep breathing!” Ringo cried as his voice got farther and farther away.

Paul vaguely wondered where he had gone, but what he was moer concerned about was the fact that he was probably close to death. Everything he had done...or _ tried _ to do...hadn’t even worked. He heard panicked voices trying to keep him from drifting off, but Paul had accepted it at this point. He was going to die tonight. The curtain was going to close, and all of Paul’s hard work would go too. But he didn’t have time to be upset about it. Everything was going dark now. Paul was out.

✦✦✦✦

He didn’t really expect to open his eyes again, but here he was. But instead of bright hospital lights, all he saw was...black. 

Paul sat up, rubbing his head. All of the sickness he had been feeling just a moment ago was...gone. It was comfortably warm and calm here. He sat there for a moment, staring into the dark, relishing in the feeling of not-being-sick anymore.

But then he remembered what black meant.

Paul’s eyes grew wide and he looked over his shoulder. A few steps away there was a light. Piercing brightness and icy air was coming from it, and Paul scooted away from it. He had been here before. But he’d never been in the dark part. 

So that meant he had died.

Paul stood up so fast he swayed on his feet. “No,” he murmured, trying to go  _ towards _ the light instead of away from it. “No, no...not yet. I can’t be dead _ yet _ .”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

Paul whirled around to see James standing right behind him. He didn’t look dazed and confused anymore, and his eyes weren’t milky either. He was crossing his arms and looked slightly irritated...at who? “I’m only fifteen, if you didn’t notice.”

“And  _ I’m _ twenty-four! I’m a  _ Beatle! _ I’m world-famous, for god’s sake!” Paul yelled. “You couldn’t stay out there for a little longer?!”

James narrowed his eyes. “Hey, I didn’t  _ choose _ to stay out there. It kept pushing me back, and then I ended up here!”

“You couldn’t have—” Paul cut himself off, sighing in defeat. There was a moment of silence, complete and utterly deafening. “Great. Now we’re both dead.”

James nodded. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Paul sighed, rubbing his temples. “Well. There goes my life,” he said, glancing back at the light. “There goes everything. My career, my music, my friends...and for what?  _ This _ place?”

James stared at him, actually looking regretful. “I’m sorry.”

Paul shook his head. “It’s not your fault, really,” he sighed. “It’s mine. If I had just—if I had just  _ tried _ harder...I could have…”

“Tried harder?” James tilted his head. “To do what?”

“To save you…? To save them?” Paul was stumbling over his own words now, feeling overwhelmed and still a bit shocked. 

“Who’s...who’s them?”

Paul sighed, trying to clear his head. He would probably need to do a lot of explaining that he didn’t really want to do, especially considering he would probably have to spend all of eternity here. “My friends,” he sighed. “John, George, and Brian. They were going to die, and I tried to help them. It...it _ worked,  _ until you jumped in front of that car, and...well.”

“George was going to die?” James said worriedly. 

“Yes,” Paul answered. “He was going to...smoke himself to death, I guess. And I had scared him out of it.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…” Paul trailed off. 

James leaned back, seeming to get what he was saying. “I’m sorry I ruined everything,” he mumbled, rubbing his arm. 

Paul stared at him. He sort of felt bad for James now; Paul had made him feel like he had done something _ wrong. _ “It’s okay.” he said. “You saved my life. But I guess you didn’t know you also wasted your own. And then...subsequently, mine.”

James nodded. “I guess we have to do this together, then.”

“Yeah,” Paul answered. He sighed and looked back towards the light. No matter how cold and unforgiving it might be, he would do anything to go back there. He couldn’t believe his whole life was over. He’d thought he had many more years of playing music and having  _ fun _ , but now it was all gone. He was just supposed to stay here for the rest of...time. 

Now the Beatles would never exist. Now...John and George and Ringo wouldn’t get the fame they wanted. Now they wouldn’t ever meet. Now they would be cursed to play gigs in dirty bars for a few pounds without getting anything from it. Now everything was going to change, and  _ now... _ Paul didn’t  _ have _ a second chance this time. 

Paul had never focused on the now before.

He sighed, sitting back down on the invisible surface they’d been standing on. He stared at the brightness that seemed so far away. Would it hurt to try and break through it? Trying had always worked _ before… _

“Come on,” Paul stood up all the sudden, and James looked up at him immediately. “We’re going to try and get back to that light.” 

He began walking towards it, resolve filling him up. James followed him hastily. “But—I already tried! It’s not going to work!”

Paul narrowed his eyes. “It’s going to work if we _ make it  _ work.”

James watched him, looking unsure, but kept walking anyway. 

It was getting colder and colder by the time Paul and James got to the border between the two shades. He tried to push towards the white, but there was something like an invisible wall keeping him from going any further. 

“See, I told you!” James said, crossing his arms to prove his point. “There’s no way to get out of here.”

“Let’s try and push it!” Paul replied enthusiastically. 

“ _ Push it _ ?!” James cried. “Are you stupid?”

“Maybe.” Paul answered. “Come on, let’s try. You never know unless you do.”

James sighed and closed his eyes. “Okay, fine. But if it doesn’t work, you just wasted so much of my time.” he said.

“Well, it’s not like you had anything else to do with it,” Paul responded. “Come on. A few big heaves should let it give.”

James sighed. “Okay.”

Paul and James both leaned up against the wall. Paul looked up at it, hoping with everything he had this was going to work. He took a deep breath, preparing to push. He was going to do this for his friends, that they would have the life they wanted and deserved.

“Alright...one, two,  _ three! _ ”

_ For John. _ He envisioned his friend’s face in his head as he pushed against the wall, and it gave a little. John was going to live a full, exciting life with Yoko and Sean and everybody he loved. And nobody—not even Chapman—was going to stop him.

“Again!”

_ For Brian. _ He then saw those gleaming brown eyes of Brian, the man who had  _ made _ the Beatles, and Paul famous. Brian deserved a joyful life with people who accepted him and appreciated him.

“Again!” 

_ For George. _ His little brother who never needed to smoke those blasted cigarettes. He was going to get world recognition for being such a talented person, just like he wanted and he earned. The wall was completely wavering now. One more would do it.

“One more time!”

_ For… _ Paul stared down at James, whose eyes were gleaming with determination. If they managed to break down this wall, James’s life would change for the better. He would become a superstar. He would gain lifelong friends, make amazing music, and have bonds that would last forever, and he didn’t even _ know _ it yet! And all Paul had to do was watch.  _ For James. _

With one last, giant heave, the invisible wall broke, and both James and Paul fell into the white space. The last thing Paul knew before everything went dark was: they had been brought back to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH my actual GOODNESS!!! This fic hit 1000 hits yesterday!!! You all don't know much this means to me. I never dreamed it would ever get this big! Thank you so much for reading this little story of mine, leaving comments and kudos. I really owe it all to you guys. 💕🍋


	18. Resolve and Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well that sure was a ride wasn't it

Surprisingly, Paul blinked his eyes open for the third time that night. He didn’t know whether he expected it or not, but...he still couldn’t really believe it. Had they really pushed the wall down? Was he really...alive?

The room was pretty dark, except for a pale light coming in from the hallway. Paul looked over to an uncomfortable-looking armchair that Ringo was curled up in. Paul leaned back onto his pillow, even more surprised to feel his heart beating. So he  _ was _ alive, and they had made it through!

Joy spread through him like rain into a puddle. He’d done it!  _ They’d  _ done it! They had saved themselves together. And now he didn’t need to worry about anything anymore.

Paul leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. “Ritch!” he hissed, trying to wake his friend up. “ _ Ritch! _ ”

“Hm?” Ringo’s head lifted up from the back of the chair and he rubbed his eyes. He looked around to see Paul sitting up and staring at him. “Macca! You’re—you’re  _ alive! _ ”

“Yeah, I know,” Paul nodded vigorously as Ringo quickly scrambled over to him. “I...I was dead for a while, but…”

“I know!” Ringo said. “Your heart stopped for  _ fifteen minutes. _ ”

“Only fifteen?” Paul said, leaning forward. “It felt a lot shorter than that.” Then he remembered James. “Is...is James fine?”

“I think so,” Ringo answered. “It was crazy. He died and then a few minutes later  _ you _ died, and then...at the exact same time your hearts started beating again! It was insane. How’d you get back to life?”

“I’ll explain later,” Paul said. Excitement flushed through him as he stepped out of bed, Ringo looking very wary of him. “But I need to see James now.”

“Wait, Paul, you...are you sure you want to do that yet?” Ringo asked uneasily, but Paul was already out the door, Ringo following him quick as a flash.

“What room is he in?” Paul said breathlessly.

“He’s in the ICU.” Ringo answered. “I don’t quite remember his room, but…”

“We’ll find him.” Paul said back. He was horribly excited to be able to stand up and walk and speak without feeling like absolute crap. That  _ must _ mean that James was okay now. It must.

Paul practically ran through the ICU hallway, peeking into every door window. At the very end near the back wall was James’s room, and Paul didn’t even knock before bursting in.

It was dark inside, and he saw James still asleep on the bed, looking very comfortable and surrounded by pillows and blankets of every shape and size. The heart monitor was going strong— _ going strong! _ —and Paul saw the steady rise and fall of James’s chest as he breathed.

He didn’t hesitate to go over and wake him up. “Hey,” he said, shaking him gently. “Get up!”

James’s eyelids fluttered and he grunted in irritation. “Just a little longer…” he said, pulling his pillow closer to him. But Paul wasn’t going to let him fall back asleep. There was too much to talk about.

“Really, wake up,” Paul said, shaking him again, more roughly this time. James sighed and furrowed his brows as he rubbed open his eyes, turning his head to look at Paul. 

“Oh…” he murmured, eyes wide. “You’re… _ we’re _ alive.”

“Yeah, I know,” Paul said, beaming. James slowly sat up, looking around, eyes still as wide as saucers. “It worked.”

It took a minute, but James finally grinned. “Holy  _ shit _ .” He turned to look at Paul. “So we actually made it. And I didn’t die! Oh, it feels so  _ great  _ to be alive…!” He lurched forward and hugged Paul, so tight it felt like he was being choked. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Paul replied.

✦✦✦✦

“So,” Ringo mumbled to Paul. “we’ve finished our job.”

They were sitting in the hospital courtyard that afternoon. It was a great day for once, with a cloudless blue sky and a temperature that wasn’t too hot, but not too cold either. They were sitting under a tree in the shade. “We’ve kept them all from dying. Now we’re done.”

“I guess I have to go back to ‘64 now.” Paul sighed.

“Do you not want to?” Ringo said.

“No, I do,” Paul sighed, “but just playing music all the time is going to be really boring compared to what I’ve been doing _ this _ week.”

Ringo laughed as Paul stared up at the sky. It was lit by the bright sun, a pretty pale blue. Paul wished he could stay to enjoy it. 

“It was all you, ya know.”

Paul looked down at Ringo again. “Huh?”

“It was all you,” Ringo repeated. “ _ You _ saved them all. I was just...there to watch.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t really think—”

“I  _ do. _ ” Ringo interrupted him. “I mean, yeah, sure. I told you a lot about what was going to happen. But you took that information and  _ ran _ with it! You did a much better job than I did. And you deserve a nice rest back home.”

A smile crossed Paul’s face. “Thanks, Ritch.” he said, putting his hand on his friend’s. They had been through so much together, and even though it was only a short time, it felt like a million years. “Thanks a lot.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Ringo replied with a reserved look. “And...before we go back to 1964, I think you should be able to come to 2019 one more time with me. Just to see what ended up happening. How about it?”

“Okay.” Paul said with a nod. “I will.”

✦✦✦✦

57 Wimpole Street. 

That was where they were standing at around noon the next day. Paul had been begrudgingly discharged from the hospital after having a clean bill of health. The nurses and doctors had been completely shell-shocked after seeing he had made a full recovery in a few hours after his heart stopped for fifteen minutes. But anyway, here they were. Ringo and Paul and James. 

“So.” James grunted, staring down at the crack. “I guess this is where it ends, huh?”

“I guess,” Paul replied. 

James glanced up at Paul and Ringo, gratitude in his brown eyes. “Thanks for everything,” he said. “You really saved my life. And George’s.”

“You’re welcome,” Ringo nodded. “And keep yourself safe, alright? We don’t want to have to come back here, no matter how nice it is.”

James laughed. “I won’t.”

Paul turned back towards the crack. “I guess we should be off now,” he said, stepping in front of it. By now he knew every twist and turn it took, every small crevice that stemmed off of it. He looked up at the sky. “How long do you think clouds last?”

He quickly did the math in his head as Ringo took his hand. “D’you think...62 lightyears?”

Paul took one last glance at James, and then they were off.


	19. In the Long Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was all worth it in the end, really.

The first thing Paul heard when he woke up was worried murmuring. He didn’t want to quite open his eyes yet, as the feeling of the cool pavement against his head was strangely calming. Maybe he could just catch a wink of sleep here…

_ Oh, wait. _

He opened his eyes quickly and lifted himself up, turning around to see a crowd of anxious looking people around him. He felt...a lot older, and his head was throbbing, so of course their time traveling  _ worked. _ But…

Paul looked over at Ringo, and was stunned to see the old guy lying on the ground. “Ringo,” he said. “Ringo...um. Hello?”

“Did we make it?” Ringo said with a yawn. He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. “Dammit, I’m old again. I was rather enjoying that youngen body of mine…”

“People are watching us,” Paul said.

Ringo looked over his shoulder. “Oh.” He got to his feet a lot quicker than Paul did. “Move along everybody, we’re alright. Everything’s fine.”

The crowd of people slowly moved on, and Paul sighed, running his hand through his thin, wiry light hair. At least it wasn’t as greasy as last time. “So what do we do now? See if they’re still alive?”

“I guess so,” Ringo said. “But I don’t have a clue where they might be.” Then his eyes lit up. “Let’s check our phones.”

Paul felt around in his pocket and pulled out the small black device. It took him a few moments to remember how to use it, but when he did, it all came back to him. He guessed it didn’t take long for people to understand how these phone things worked. 

As he scrolled through his phone messages, he reached down to scratch his arm. But it suddenly began aching a bit. Confused, Paul pulled his sleeve down to see two scars across his arm.  _ I’ve never gotten hurt there before, _ he thought, but then he remembered. These scars were from the bullets meant for John!

“Ringo, look!” Paul said, showing him his arm. “John’s alive!”

Ringo’s eyes grew wide. “Wow,” he said. “And look. John’s in my phone.” Paul looked down to see John’s contact. “So it did work.”

“Where is he, d’you know?” Paul said.

“We can look it up.” Ringo tapped a few buttons and then searched up  _ john lennon current house _ on his phone. “So it looks like… not far from here. A few blocks actually.” He glanced up at Paul. “Should we see him?”

“Why not?” Paul tilted his head with a smile.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at John’s townhouse. It looked very modern, and most everything was colored white. Paul was enthusiastic enough to go knock on the door before Ringo even got out of the car, which had still been parked by Wimpole Street.

It took a few moments before the door opened to reveal a small woman with short-cut black hair. Paul barely recognized her, but he knew it was Yoko. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello there,” she said, opening the door wider so they could come in. “Come in, come in. We’re just starting to make tea.”

Paul stepped inside, as it looked like he was a regular here. He saw a row of shoes by the door so he slipped his own off, eager to see John. He weaved through the hallways, looking at each wall. They were loaded with pictures of John and Sean, John and Yoko, Sean and Yoko, John and Julian, John and Cynthia, etc. But at the very end was a giant framed photo of John, Paul, George and Ringo. Paul warmed at that one. John had never forgotten about them.

He turned into the kitchen, led by the screaming of the teapot. He didn’t expect to see John standing there, really, but there he was, looking absolutely great. He looked 50, not 79! Paul smiled mischievously and went over to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

John yelped and turned around, a flare of that familiar aggression in his eyes. “Oh, Macca,” he sighed once he realized he was Paul. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Not the first time,” Paul replied as he caught a glimpse of his arm scars. “What are you makin’?”

“Tea, what do you think?” John said. “What are you doing here? Did I do something?” His words weren’t meant to be rude, as he was beaming the entire time he was saying them.

Paul laughed. “No,” he answered. “Just...wanted to see you.”

“Well, I might not be able to talk for long,” John said as he got a few cups from the cabinet. “If you didn’t remember, I’ve invited you and George and Brian for dinner. But I guess you came early.”

“Oh, I…” Paul trailed off, but he was really excited. So George and Brian were alive too. He wanted to cry, strangely enough. He had done it. They were all alive. It had been worth it in the end. “I forgot.” He was used to feigning things now. “Want me to help you clean up the house?”

“What? Does the house look that bad?” John joked, and then shook his head. “That’d be nice. Thanks.” 

“I’ll just go to the bathroom real quick.” Paul nodded, finding it hard to keep himself together. He needed to check one more thing too. 

He stepped into the bathroom at the end of the hall, quietly locking the door behind him. He didn’t know what else to do but sit on the ground. So many emotions were flooding through him; relief and pure joy being the strongest. Paul almost couldn’t believe this was real. 

He stood up after a moment, staring into the mirror. Hey, he didn’t look too bad either, for 77. Maybe John and George’s death had caused him so much pain he’d  _ aged _ a bunch. But now he looked a little better. 

With a sigh, Paul pulled up his shirt a bit. And there was no surprise in him as he saw a long, nasty scar across his stomach and his chest. It was hardly visible, but it was definitely there. Paul knew exactly what it was from too: James throwing himself in front of the car.

Paul smiled as he thought of the young kid. It was weird to know that James was also the exact same person as him, just...younger. But Paul would always remember the chap with fondness, and this car would help.

✦✦✦✦

Around two hours later, George and Brian. It was so weird to see them, so much older than the last time he had. But they seemed happy, especially Brian. He couldn’t stop talking about his husband, and it seemed like they were more than satisfied with each other. Paul knew the others had already heard way too much about Brian’s husband, but he and Ringo both couldn’t get enough of stories about him. Brian also hadn’t used a sleeping pill since that night when he had nearly overdosed, and he (just like he said he would) had been using warm milk to fall asleep. He joked that he was so sick of it he was thinking about “becoming” lactose intolerant, which everyone had a good laugh at.

George had never picked up a cigarette since 1957, never mind even looked at one. He said it reminded him too much of Paul’s accident, and that identical boy who had saved him. (Paul was having a hard time staying quiet about that one.) But George was still just as much of a goofball as always, and he was very proud of the album he’d just released, and the new space of his garden he’d been working on for a few months.

John and Yoko were still married and were very happy together. John had been spending more time with Julian and even Cynthia. Paul was very proud of him for that, as he knew John hadn’t really spent time with his son when he was born. And even though he and Cynthia weren’t together anymore, it was nice to hear they were still friends. Oh, and John bragged that he was getting “cancelled” on something called “Twitter” for the third time this month. Paul reminded himself to look up what that meant.

At the end of the dinner, Paul had never felt more happy in his life. Not even the expertly-made caramel brownies Brian had made were sweeter than these moments. He couldn’t wait for all of this joy to unfold around him as the years went on, and nobody was more proud of Paul than himself for (somehow) managing to keep all these people he loved alive.

He didn’t really want to go home.

But he had to. Unfortunately.

The cool night air surrounded him as he stood on the doorstep of John’s house, Ringo beside him. He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “You’re lucky you get to stay here,” he said. “It’s like paradise.”

“Oh come on,” Ringo rolled his eyes. “It’ll only be paradise when I’m still twenty-four.”

Paul smiled and nudged his shoulder. “Race ya to the car.”

“Wh-what?” Ringo looked up at him, but Paul was already off. “Macca!”

Paul laughed as he reached Ringo’s car, the old drummer huffing and puffing after him. “How...how did you get there so fast?” he said, leaning over as he grabbed the door handle.

“I guess I’m just excited.” Paul said as he climbed inside. “Excited to see Jane again, that’s for sure. Boy, she’ll be a sight for sore eyes.”

“You got that from  _ Back to the Future,  _ didn’t you?” Ringo said.

“Hm?”

“Never mind.”

They drove down the street in silence, Paul staring out the window. The stars were scattered across the sky, spinning and winking at him. He smiled, hoping they would still be there when he got back to ‘64. 

It felt like too soon when they pulled up beside Wimpole. The streets were completely quiet, and Paul sighed as he opened the car door. That familiar crack was an eyesore now. He’d  _ have _ to get it repaired when he got back too.

Paul stared down at the sidewalk, Ringo coming up next to him. “I won’t be going with you this time.” he said, sorrow in his blue eyes. “This is a trip you’ll have to make alone.”

Paul nodded, turning to Ringo. He looked extremely sad. “I’ll see you…” Paul said, but trailed off. “I’ll see you in 55 years, then, won’t I?”

Ringo sighed. “I guess you will.”

Paul smiled and leaned forward in a hug. Ringo seemed to accept it, and they stood there for a while, the last hug they would ever have as 1964-Paul and 2019-Ringo. It felt too short, as with many things tonight, until Ringo pulled back. “Take care of yourself,” he said. “I don’t want to have to trip on that thing again to save _ you _ from dying.”

“Same with you,” Paul said with a smile. He looked back at the crack in the sidewalk. “Well. Goodbye, Ringo.”

“Goodbye, Paul.”

Paul stood in front of the crack in the sidewalk and tilted his head to the sky. “How long do you think stars last?”

There was a complete silence, except for a long breeze.

“Do you think...55 years?”

Paul took one last look at Ringo, who gave him a wave. Paul waved back, and for the last time, leaned forward and tripped.


	20. All's Well That Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets back.

“Paul! Oh my god, Paul? Paul?”

Paul winced, that familiar pain in his head coming again. He sighed, opening his eyes. At first his vision was blurry, but he saw a battered, half-open suitcase in front of him, and somebody standing in front of him.

He looked up, pressing his hands into the sidewalk to push himself. And almost cried  _ again. _

Jane was standing over him, her blue eyes glinting with worry. Paul couldn’t help but smile at her, so relieved to see her it was overwhelming. And she wasn’t married to some  _ cartoonist _ either. “Oh my god. You’re fine. Are you alright?” she said, pulling him up. “Did you trip?”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Paul said, surprised to hear his own, twenty-four year old, familiar voice. “Woah, you look...so pretty. No way you were just in bed.”

“Uh, yes I was.” Jane said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Paul got to his feet. If Jane thought he was crazy, he’d never live it down. “No, I’m fine, dear, I really am.” he said. “I’ve just missed you so much. It’s felt like ages since I saw you!”

“It  _ has _ been ages.” Jane answered, picking up his suitcase for him. “It’s been a month.” Paul sighed in relief as she opened the door to reveal their familiar house. He’d missed it so much.

“I’m exhausted,” Paul said wearily. “I’m going straight to bed.”

He lingered in the hallway for a moment before continuing to walk up the stairs. Everything felt so odd, like he hadn’t been here in years. Well, he really hadn’t, but…

Right as he got up to their bedroom he fell onto the bed, breathing in the familiar smell of their laundry detergent. He was going to sleep well tonight. And the good thing about it was that he didn’t have to worry about waking up in 2019 in the morning. He could just have a good long sleep.

Jane was already in bed after he’d gotten ready. He slid under the covers and sighed, grabbing his pillow with a smile. This felt like heaven, really. He wished he could tell Jane all he’d been through, but she would probably think he was crazy. Wouldn’t it be a treat, though? Paul vaguely wondered if he had been the first time traveler. He’d be famous then, even more than before.

He was already falling asleep with that last thought. But before he did, he rolled over to look out the window. Paul’s eyes lit up to see the same four stars, glittering brighter than before, lighting up the night sky with their bright light. And they were all together, never moving an inch from each other. 

Just like the Beatles. They would never be apart again, never having to grieve each other’s losses. The world would be a better place with them in it; they would make more music for years to come, Brian looking over them. They’d never have to worry about arguments or fights. All they had to do was have fun and stay happy.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Breaking the Hourglass is done! I hope you all enjoyed, as I sure did writing it. Thanks for all the comments and kudos, I really appreciate it! I do hope you all will stick around for my next fic, and thanks for reading! 🍋


End file.
